


I imagine the gods saying, We will make it up to you.

by hells_half_acre



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns, Canon Compliant, Comeplay, First Time, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Finale, Resurrection, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1230400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hells_half_acre/pseuds/hells_half_acre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur returns to find an old friend, a new world, and a second chance.</p><p>(My canon-compliant happy ending for Merlin)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In my headcanon, Merlin doesn't take place in our world... but rather in a "land of myth"...
> 
> In the Merlin Universe, the future might look like our present, but there is still magic and magic users. There are no dragons in Europe, and no one as powerful as Merlin, but magic is still there. 
> 
> Furthermore, in the Merlin Universe, it's the name Emrys that has become a legend, not Merlin. Merlin can still use his name without raising eyebrows.
> 
> Title is from the poem "I Imagine the Gods" by Jack Gilbert  
> (look it up, it's gorgeous.)
> 
> Betaed by Mymuseandi (thank you!)

Arthur stood in a lake facing the shore.

The water lapped at his waist, cold and gentle. 

Twilight gave way to the first rays of sunlight at his back and an early morning mist rose around him. It felt as though he had just come out of a dream – a sleepwalker who had awoken somewhere new.

He wore his chainmail, but he did not have his sword. His cape pulled at his shoulders, waterlogged and heavy.

He took a step towards the shore. The noise of his movement through the water echoed in the quiet and a bird took flight from a nearby tree. He stopped, but somewhere deep inside him there was a tug – and Arthur took another step, and then another, his eyes fixed on the shore. When the water lapped only at his knees, he saw a slim figure appear from the fog.

The man wore an oversized dark coat, his long silvery hair and beard blending into the fog. Arthur paused and the man did the same. They stared at each other over the distance between them. There was another tug deep inside Arthur, and at that same moment, Arthur realized that the man’s silvery hair wasn’t blending with the fog, it was disappearing into it – leaving behind smooth skin, raven black hair, and familiar blue eyes.

And then they were moving, Arthur almost slipping on the wet stones by the shore while Merlin slid down the grassy bank gracelessly.

Arthur’s heels were still in the water when they embraced.

Merlin clung to him even when Arthur tried to step away. He could feel Merlin shaking.

“Merlin,” Arthur said. His voice was strange to his own ears - the first words of morning.

Merlin finally stepped back, wiping at his face with the overlong sleeve of his jacket. Arthur kept a hand clasped to Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin mirrored the gesture; with his other hand, Merlin covered Arthur’s own and pressed it tighter against himself. It brought back the memory of Arthur lying on the cold ground, a wound in his side, and his truest friend crying as he admitted a decade of lies.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Shhh, it’s all right, Merlin,” Arthur said. “I’m here. It’s all right.”

Merlin smiled through his tears, and Arthur knew he had not lied. He reached up and ruffled Merlin’s hair, causing Merlin to duck out of the way. Merlin let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob – but when he turned to Arthur, he was still smiling.

“Come, My Lord,” Merlin said, placing his hand on Arthur’s forearm and tugging him forward, out of the water and onto dry land. “I’ve got dry clothes and a fire waiting...”

Arthur smiled and followed. Merlin’s hand never left his arm. Arthur allowed it. He could remember vividly his final moments; or, rather, what he had believed had been his final moments, and how he wanted only to have Merlin hold him. He had to admit that he did not want Merlin to let go anymore than Merlin seemed to want to.

Merlin led him up the grassy bank and across a wide flat stone road, and then down a stone footpath past a few old trees. As the morning mist rose and dissipated, Arthur saw a stone house that could only belong to a minor nobleman. Arthur tried to remember who lived near the lake Avalon, but to his knowledge, and recent experience, it had only been thick wilderness.

“Who lives here, Merlin?”

Merlin looked back towards Arthur, meeting Arthur’s eye for a long moment before he spoke.

“I do, Sire.”

Arthur’s heart lurched before the full weight of Merlin’s answer even hit him. The joy at seeing his friend again began to recede in the face of the cold realization that Arthur hadn’t cheated death after all – at least, not completely.

Merlin led him into the house, the door already ajar, as though Merlin had run out in a great hurry... probably because he had.  For a moment Arthur wondered what it had felt like for Merlin – if he had experienced the same tug beneath his breastbone, calling him to the lake in the twilight hours.

Merlin pressed a white thing on the wall, and the hallways was illuminated as if by magic – though Arthur knew that it hadn’t been, because Merlin was looking at him and smiling, and his eyes remained bright blue. Merlin led him up a staircase, leaving Arthur only a quick glance at strange looking furniture and ornaments in the downstairs rooms.

Merlin pulled him into the first door on the right at the top of the stairs and, suddenly, Arthur was home.

The Pendragon shield hung on the wall in red and gold. His wardrobe stood in the corner. His bed dominated the room, its curtains pulled open. A table sat by a large window, an ornate chair behind it, and there was a fireplace along one wall with a hooked rug and two chairs placed in front of it.

It wasn’t his room though, it was smaller. It wasn’t his bed, because it didn’t have that odd hole in the post that had appeared around the same time that Merlin had been injured and missing.

“How many years has it been?”

Merlin shifted on his feet and looked at him. His eyes were still red from crying.

“Hundreds,” Merlin whispered.

“Hundreds,” Arthur repeated, letting the knowledge sink into his skin.

“Thousands...”

Arthur felt... devastated. Everything and everyone he had ever known... Guinevere, Camelot...

“How is it that you still live?”

“You should get out of those wet clothes, My Lord,” Merlin said, dropping his gaze immediately. He reached for Arthur’s cape with shaking hands. Arthur allowed him to undo the buckle gently, and remove the sodden material, but caught Merlin’s hand before Merlin could reach for the buckle of his armour.

“Answer me, Merlin.”

Merlin took a breath, his eyes momentarily darting to the side, but then he met Arthur’s eyes, and Arthur could see the resolve there.

“I don’t know, Arthur... you died, everyone died... and I lived. I aged, but then would wake up young again - as young as I was when you left me. The druids, they’ve always called me Emrys. In the old tongue it means ‘immortal.’”

“Immortal...” Arthur repeated. “Are you a god?”

“No,” Merlin said adamantly. “I’m just a man. If I were a god... I could only wish to be a god, because then I could have gone to you.” Merlin continued, his eyes filling with new tears. “If I were a god I would not be bound to the earth as I am. I would not be trapped here... I would...”

“All right,” Arthur said as softly as he could. “I believe you.”

Merlin took a deep breath, “I was destined to serve you, Arthur, and you were destined to return...”

“You were waiting,” Arthur said, dumbfounded by the thought.

“Yes,” Merlin confirmed.

“You built a house.”

“Eventually, I had to.”

“I must say, your taste in decor is commendable.”

Merlin laughed and it was like the first bluebird of morning. Arthur smiled.

“I hope you remember how to perform your duties,” Arthur said, as Merlin reached once again to remove his armour.

Merlin smiled, a glint of mischief in his eye that sent a homesick pang through Arthur, even though the person he longed for was standing right in front of him.

*

Merlin gave Arthur more comfortable clothes to wear. The material was soft and luxurious. The clothes themselves were simple – supportive underpants, soft black trousers, and a white shirt that opened only at the collar. Arthur felt amazingly light and unburdened without his sodden cape and cold chainmail.

“Are you hungry, Sire?” Merlin asked. “I could go to the kitchen and prepare you something to eat. I didn’t...  I didn’t expect you today, but I should have enough for eggs and toast.”

“That will be fine, Merlin, thank you,” Arthur answered. Merlin nodded and darted out of the room.

Arthur stayed standing in the middle of the room, unsure what to do while he waited. Ordinarily, there’d be a pile of papers on his desk that needed reading or speeches and letters to write. Instead, Arthur ran his hand over the bed post, felt the carving and noted where it was similar to what he remembered and where it differed. He inspected the wardrobe similarly, and then the desk. Each item was beautifully made and maintained. Finally, he came to the fireplace and the shield adorned with the Pendragon crest above it. Compared to everything else in the room, it was of crude craftsmanship, worn and too old to be of any real use.

The door opened and Merlin shouldered his way in carrying a large tray. Arthur glanced around the room, realizing that there was no dining table as there had been in the King’s chambers in Camelot. Arthur moved to the desk and was rewarded with a smile from Merlin. There were two identical meals on the tray.

“May I eat with you?” Merlin asked, as though they hadn’t eaten together the past three days as Merlin dragged him towards the lake... and then Arthur realized that they hadn’t. “It’s just... you probably have questions and there’s quite a lot... erm, that is, I wasn’t sure if I’d get a chance to eat otherwise and I may need the food for strength. I’m not as young as I used to be!” Merlin smiled, furrowed his brow and looked down at himself, and then barked a laugh, “or I suppose I am.”

“I see you’ve taken the opportunity to go mad over the years,” Arthur joked, but lost his smile when Merlin’s smile disappeared and he suddenly looked haunted. “I’m sorry... what I meant was that I’d be happy to have you eat with me, Merlin.”

*

“It was Gwen who restored magic to Camelot, in your name,” Merlin explained, in between bites. “She was a just and good Queen and the people rightfully adored her. She ruled for many years alone, and then...” Merlin glanced at Arthur and then back down at his plate. “...she and Sir Leon wed. He was, at that time, her most trusted knight, and it came as very little surprise.”

“Leon became King?” Arthur asked, dumbfounded at the news. It was odd, to feel the sliver of betrayal enter his heart, even though he knew that he could hardly expect Guinevere to stay chaste and true when Arthur was dead and gone.

“No,” Merlin shook his head. “He... that is, the wedding came as no surprise, but Leon refused the name of King, and Gwen agreed. She insisted that she had but one King, and that was and would always be you, Sire. Leon was named as Consort and was never equal in standing to Gwen. It is a tradition that continues to this day. Only those of Gwen’s linage may rule.”

“She had one then... a linage?” Arthur asked, swallowing against a sudden dryness of the throat.

“Arthur Thomas was born a year and a half after Gwen and Leon wed,” Merlin smiled, a little sadly, either in sympathy for the swirling thoughts and emotions that flooded Arthur’s mind, or in some nostalgic memory of his own. “He had the curliest hair I’ve ever seen.”

An unexpected laugh escaped Arthur, and he found himself tearing up at the same time. He could only imagine... he could only imagine...

“He was given the throne in his thirty-fifth year,” Merlin stated, his smile fading. “I stopped visiting shortly after that. Gwen was the last... the last of those who understood. Without her...”

“No more,” Arthur said, looking away from his friend and wiping at his eyes.

Silence fell. Arthur stared up at the old Pendragon shield and tried to calm himself. Merlin stood and cleared the dishes, disappearing out the door that led into the rest of Merlin’s strange new home.

When Merlin returned a moment later, he was carrying a large leather-bound book.

 “Perhaps this might be easier,” Merlin said. “I kept a record. You could read it. At your own pace... and then I wouldn’t have to...” Merlin took a deep breath, and then continued in a stronger voice. “I have some errands to run. I could leave this with you and you could read while I’m gone.”

“Very well,” Arthur nodded.

Merlin smiled, and placed the book on the desk in front of Arthur. “Good. I should be back by lunch. You’ve had breakfast, so you shouldn’t need anything before then.” Merlin paused in thought, and then added. “Before I go, let me show you where the toilet is.”

“What’s a toilet?”

*

Merlin’s record was a list by year of every event that Merlin had thought important - alliances, laws, wars, and the deaths of everyone Arthur had ever known.

Gwen’s death was the hardest to read, though it was peaceful and of old-age, happy in her kingdom, surrounded by the love of her family and the people of Camelot - it was everything Arthur would have wished for her, save only for the fact that he was not there to go with her to the next life.

It was after the account of Gwen’s death that Merlin had left his first personal note in the record. The final entry for that year read as:

_\- I miss you._

As the record continued, Merlin’s personal notes became more frequent, just as the events that he deemed noteworthy during the year became fewer.

 _\- I’m getting old, Arthur, older than Gaius ever was. What will happen if I die before you return?_  
...  
 _\- Maybe this is my punishment for failing – to never see you again. Kilgarrah said you would return, but now that I think of it, he made no promises that I would still be here to see it. I hope you’ll forgive me, Arthur. I hope you find this record somehow. I hope you find a new servant. I regret so many things, but most of all, the fact that I will never set eyes on you again._  
...  
 _\- I woke up young again. I think I am the same age I was when you left. I don’t understand why I still live. Were we really this young? I look like a child._  
...  
 _\- I’ve started calling myself Gwaine when I travel to the market. No one recognizes me as ‘Old Man Merlin.’ I can’t use the name Emrys. It remains too well known, a legend now. I don’t think Gwaine would mind._  
...  
 _\- I miss you._  
...  
 _\- I regret using Gwaine’s name. It reopens the wound every time someone calls me by it. They joke that I hardly look like a legendary knight of the round table. I can hardly tell them that I once sat at it myself._  
...  
 _\- Arthur Thomas has died. His daughter, Ygraine, now has the throne. I watched from the courtyard as she addressed the people. She has Gwen’s curly hair. I cried like a girl, Arthur, you would have been ashamed of me. I miss you._  
...  
 _\- I’m too old again. Am I going to die this time? I don’t know if I can do it again, Arthur.  I want to see you again, believe me, I do, but... the thought of another lifetime... how many more lifetimes will I be forced to live without you?_  
...  
 _\- I’ve decided to go by the name Daegal. That was the boy who saved you from Sarrum’s assassin, do you remember?  It’s funny, how our feelings change over time. I had been in so much pain, and under a great deal of stress as I realized that Gwen was not herself – but I now feel as though it was all a happy memory. You lived then. Suddenly that’s all that matters. I suppose by that reasoning I only have one bad memory - one bad memory that has gone on an awfully long time._  
...  
 _\- I miss you._  
...  
 _\- I miss you._  
...  
 _\- I miss you._  
...  
 _\- I’m trying something new. Hopefully this spell works._

The record continued after that with events carefully noted down in an impersonal fashion. This time there was no note for when Merlin went from old to young again, the note on Ygraine’s death and successor was a simple statement of fact. Merlin didn’t appear to have returned to Camelot for the coronation. Even Merlin’s writing became uniform, the ink never changing as it had in the early pages. The entries became vague, less detailed, noting only times of war and time of peace, times of sickness and times of prosperity. As Arthur turned the pages, he realized the pages smelled like a thick dark forest. It brought back memories of hunting trips and long journeys. He wondered in what conditions Merlin had been living in his lifetime as Daegal and the life after that.

When the ink and writing finally altered slightly, it was with the note:

_-A small village is being built next to the lake. My little holiday had to come to an end. I’m now going by the name Merlin Dragoon. I only hope I remember how to be human._

 The entries continued for another lifetime, the writing becoming shaky in Merlin’s third, fourth, or possibly fifth old-age. Arthur realizes, with a sinking feeling, that he has lost count.

_-Some scholars believe that the legends were recorded wrong. That it is Gwen who will rise again, because it was she who sat on the thrown during the time of peace, though it was you who died in a battle to achieve it. What if they’re right, Arthur? What if I’ve been doomed to wait an eternity for someone who is never to return. There have been wars, famines, and times of struggle when I’ve been certain that your kingdom needed you, and yet the lake remains still. If there is no hope to see you again, I should ask for the return of your sword, so that I may throw myself on it._

The next entry simply read “ _-Merlin Dragoon II_ ”

Arthur closed the book. He had not read to the present day, but he felt too heartsick to read further.

He looked around the room. Merlin had not recorded when he had built his house, but Arthur guessed that it was probably when the village appeared. “ _I only hope I remember how to be human,_ ” Merlin had said. What had he been before?

Arthur’s gaze fell on the door to the narrow hallway. Besides a tour of the bathroom and a short instruction on how a toilet functioned, Arthur had not explored any other part of Merlin’s house. He had the feeling that he was expected to wait in his chamber until Merlin returned – the chamber that Merlin had purposefully kept as familiar as possible. It was clever idea, Arthur realized, to try to lessen the shock of the passage of time.

With that thought, there was only one thing for Arthur to do.

He entered the hallway.

Besides the tiled bathroom, there were two other doors. Arthur opened the one closest to him and knew immediately that he had found Merlin’s bedroom. He smiled and then had to swallow against something in his throat. It was so undeniably Merlin’s bedroom that Arthur felt that Merlin could have just as easily led him into this room and Arthur would have felt at home.

It was a mess. There were books strewn and stacked here and there. An old writing desk sat in the window, a battered chair pulled out beside it. A single bed, unmade, was pushed against one wall, with a chipped nightstand beside it. One wall seemed to open up into a wardrobe, but it didn’t look as though Merlin bothered to hang up his own clothes, since they were draped around the room haphazardly and lying in piles on the floor.

There was something on the nightstand that Arthur didn’t recognize. It displayed numbers, crudely drawn. Arthur went over and peered at it, but didn’t touch. He could ask Merlin about it later. His gaze shifted to the bed, thinking of the old bed that Merlin slept on in Camelot. This bed was no bigger than that really, and Arthur wasn’t sure why it seemed strange to him that Merlin wouldn’t have gotten himself a larger one... it wasn’t, after all, as though Merlin needed the room, skinny as he was, and unwed.

Merlin had lived lifetimes, but in the record, there had been no mention of a wife or _anyone_ – at least until the point that Arthur had read, which had been five lifetimes at least. Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath and tried not to think of it, tried not to think about the twist in his guts at the thought of Merlin alone for all that time. Maybe he just hadn’t written about it, Arthur thought. Merlin had, after all, always had his secrets. Arthur had never known him as well as he thought.

Arthur left Merlin’s room and opened the other closed door in the upstairs hallway. This one led to a library. The room lined with filled bookshelves, and in the centre of the room, a soft leather chair and a desk. This room, at least, was clean. Arthur closed the door again and then ventured downstairs.

The first room was obviously meant for entertaining, as it was filled with chairs and benches, all soft and made of fabric. There was a fireplace that dominated one wall, a window that dominated another. Beyond that room was a small dining area attached to the kitchen.  Whatever Merlin had been doing in his numerous lives, it had obviously made him wealthy. His house was filled with fine furniture, rich fabrics, and soft carpeting. The kitchen, Arthur discovered, had a stove that didn’t appear to require wood to burn, and a cupboard that was both inexplicably always cold and had a torch that lit itself whenever the door opened.

There was another small room with a toilet off the kitchen, and yet another room meant for entertaining, this one with seating that faced a large flat black object.  Arthur also found a broom cupboard and more food storage, and another door outside.

His stomach rumbled and he wondered how long it had been since Merlin had left on his errands. Arthur wandered back into the kitchen and opened the cold cupboard again, as that was where the majority of the food seemed to be kept. He was happy to discover some apples inside of a glass drawer.

Before he could take a bite, he heard a heavy door shut and then footsteps run up stairs, and then footsteps run immediately downstairs.

“Merlin?” Arthur called. Merlin hadn’t told him to be wary of intruders – nor did it appear that anyone but Merlin lived in the house.

Merlin all but barrelled into the kitchen, wide-eyed and panicked. Arthur immediately felt himself tense, glancing around for a weapon.

“You’re in the kitchen,” Merlin all but breathed out. “You.... you’re in the kitchen.”

“I gathered that from the pots and stove, yes,” Arthur said slowly. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, sorry, I... uh, everything is fine, Sire,” Merlin nodded.  “You have an apple.”

“I was hungry. I found it in the cold cupboard,” Arthur explained, gesturing with the apple.

“It’s called a refrigerator,” Merlin smiled.

“That’s a stupid name for it.”

Merlin laughed. “I’ve got groceries in the car, if you want something other than an apple for lunch.”

“I don’t know what that first bit means, but yes,” Arthur nodded.

Merlin laughed again. “Just... stay here. I’ll be right back.”

There was a stool next to the marble table in the middle of the room. Arthur sat, and watched Merlin carry in two large bags of food.

“Is that where you went this morning? To the market?” Arthur asked, watching Merlin dart around the kitchen putting things away in various different cupboards.

“Yes,” Merlin nodded, “and also the tavern.”

“Merlin...”

“Not like that,” Merlin rolled his eyes. “I had to start our cover story for the villagers. The last time anyone saw me, I was an old man. Usually I have more time to prepare, but I had to come up with an excuse to speed things along – as it appears that your return caused me to revert to my old appearance ahead of schedule.”

Arthur nodded. The record didn’t actually say how he explained his sudden youth to the villagers, but Arthur had learned, in his last few days, that Merlin was actually quite a skilled liar –the thought made Arthur’s stomach twist.

“What story have you spun then?” Arthur asked.

“Well, usually, I know when the end of one lifetime is coming –and so, I’ll start putting it ‘round that I’ve a nephew who is going to come out and look after me in my old age... a nephew who happens to have the same name as me, because it’s a family tradition. When I wake up young again, I go into town and introduce myself as my own nephew, then I wait a couple of weeks or so, and then I tell everyone that Old Merlin has died, and he’s going to be interned at a family plot someplace else, but we can have our own little get together at the tavern.  It’s... “ Merlin paused. “Always makes me cry, that bit.”

“You attend your own funerals,” Arthur stared at Merlin.

Merlin laughed, though it lacked any humour. “Not this time,” Merlin answered, hurrying around the kitchen once again, gathering food in order to prepare Arthur’s lunch. “This time, I disguised myself as the old man, and I told them that I was moving to the city, and that my nephew and his friend were going to be living in my house – like a trade. And... “ Merlin paused and looked a little guilty. “You must promise not to be angry with me, Arthur.”

 “Merlin, what did you do?”

“You have to understand, there are things about the world... so much time has passed Arthur, and you don’t know... there’s so much that you don’t know. You don’t know what a car is, or telly, or who the prime minister is. There’s so much I need to teach you, and... I just thought... “

Arthur took a deep breath, suddenly feeling...slightly terrified... if he were to be honest. Because Merlin was right, Arthur couldn’t remember what Merlin had called the cold cupboard, he didn’t know what the contraption on Merlin’s bedside table had been, nor why there was a sitting area in Merlin’s house devoted to looking at a flat black piece of glass... he didn’t know what the world looked like outside of Merlin’s house, who ruled his kingdom, or even where the market was and what currency he would need for a loaf of bread.

“Did you tell them I was a simpleton again?” Arthur asked softly, because he wouldn’t blame Merlin if he had.

Merlin huffed a laugh and smiled at him, but his eyes were soft as though he knew exactly how Arthur was feeling. “No, Arthur... you’re not a simpleton.”

“Then what?”

“I told them... it’s almost the truth really... that’s the trick with lying, I’ve found, it’s easiest if you actually tell the truth,” Merlin smiled. “I told them you had been in the army, off at war, and that you had been injured in an attack. I told them that you had fallen into a coma – a deep sleep – and you had only recently woken up.”

“All true,” Arthur realized.

“Except, that I told them that you had a head injury and that when you had woken up, you had lost parts of your memory,” Merlin explained. “My nephew – that is to say, myself – thought that it would be better if you made your recovery in a quiet village, rather than a large city, and so I asked my uncle – again, myself – who’s getting on in years, to trade houses with me. And so... here we are.”

Merlin placed a sandwich in front of Arthur, and then began to make one for himself.

“That... is a clever story, Merlin,” Arthur said.

“I just thought,” Merlin continued, “that this way you can ask people questions and they won’t think you’re strange for not knowing. At least, you can ask the bartender, anyway, his name is Rhys. He promised he’d look out for you. He’s a good man. I was good friends with his great grandfather. We used to be lamplighters. He’d have been proud.”

Arthur wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so he simply nodded and ate his sandwich. It felt freeing, to know that he could go to the tavern now, and on Merlin’s word alone, Arthur knew that he could trust this Rhys to welcome him at the very least.

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur said between bites, trying to get into the habit of showing Merlin his appreciation – he had promised himself, should he survive, that he would.

Merlin looked at him like a startled stoat. Arthur rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to make a sarcastic remark to undercut his words.

“How many lifetimes have you lived?” He asked instead.

“Ten, maybe,” Merlin answered. “They’re all in the record, I thought.”

“I haven’t finished it yet,” Arthur admitted. “Also, there’s that bit where you don’t say when a new life has started and all the writing looks the same. Did you enchant the book to write itself?”

“Oh,” Merlin said. “Yes, I... yes”

“Did you go away for a bit? Travel?” Arthur asked, hoping that the answer would be yes, that Merlin had used his immortality to see the world, rather than-

“No, I stayed by the lake,” Merlin said, not meeting Arthur’s eyes. “I... well, I was a little tired of... that is... I wanted time to go by quicker, if I was to wait for you... so... I... became a tree. Listen, I don’t really want to talk about this, that’s why I gave you the record. Can we.... ” Merlin sighed. “There’s a lot I have to teach you about the world now, we should get started on it.”

“Whatever you wish, Merlin,” Arthur said, because he couldn’t imagine - he couldn’t imagine waiting a thousand years to see Merlin’s face again. 


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent in what Arthur could only call a history lesson. Only, instead of politics and wars – ‘that’s what the record is for, Arthur’ – it was engines, electricity, and telephones.  Merlin would show him diagrams in large old books, and sometimes he’d disappear into the cellar and reappear with whatever piece of technology they were discussing – usually, it was covered in dust and broken, but sometimes the contraptions still worked.

When they got hungry for supper, Merlin showed Arthur how to use the kitchen appliances. Arthur had never cooked a day in his life, except over an open fire on rough trips, but he watched attentively as Merlin made them a simple stew. For dessert, Merlin opened the top portion of the cold cupboard – ‘the _refrigerator_ , Arthur’ – and served Arthur something called ‘ice cream’. Merlin watched as Arthur ate it, smiling the whole time like this was perhaps the most wonderful thing that he could give to Arthur – and perhaps it was. It was cold, but delicious, and Arthur only ate it slowly because Merlin was adamant that if he ate too fast he’d regret it.

By the time Arthur retired for the evening – Merlin fussing over him as he washed up and brushed his teeth (using the vile tasting paste that Merlin pushed on him) – Arthur’s head was spinning. Even though Merlin had turned off all the lights when Arthur had gotten into bed, Arthur found himself clicking on and off his bedside lamp in wonder once Merlin left. He knew that tomorrow Merlin was planning to show him computers, television, and cars. Arthur glanced over at the leather-bound book still laying on his desk and thought that perhaps he should finish it, but he was too exhausted.

Instead, he turned back off the lamp and lay down. The bed was more comfortable than any he’d ever had, the sheets softer, the blankets warmer... and yet Arthur couldn’t sleep. There was an absence beside him that he suddenly felt so sharply that his breath hitched.

Guinevere would never sleep next to him again. Guinevere was dead.

This wasn’t just an adventure with Merlin, some trip that they would eventually return from. Arthur would never ride back into the courtyard. He would never see Gwen waiting at the top of the stairs, relieved and happy to see him. She would never run into his arms again. He would never lift her as they embraced or hear her laughter...

Arthur had known yesterday – what felt to him like yesterday – that he was never going to see Camelot again and yet it seemed an easier realization than this one. It was easier to be the one to die and to know that Guinevere, Merlin, and Camelot would live on without him. It was far easier to die than it was to live. Yet both had happened, Gwen had lived without Arthur and now Arthur was living without Gwen, without Camelot, in a world he didn’t know and wasn’t a part of.

He turned to face Gwen’s side of the bed, and dragged the empty blankets tight to him, burying his face in them to muffle his sobs.

*

“Rise and Shine, Sire!”  Merlin’s voice woke him as usual, followed closely by the sun pouring into the room as Merlin flung open the curtains. “Up and at’em!”

“Merlin?” Arthur groaned, as reality came crashing in – Arthur must have cried himself to sleep like a child, but it felt like he had no sleep at all.

“I’ve got your breakfast,” Merlin announced. Arthur glanced over at the desk and saw a full tray, silver, just like in Camelot. Maybe it had all been a dream – maybe his manservant wasn’t a sorcerer, maybe Arthur hadn’t been slain, maybe...

“Let’s just get you dressed first,” Arthur stumbled out of bed, as Merlin pushed a pair of trousers into his hands.  Arthur pulled them on in a daze. Of course this wasn’t Camelot, the trousers were wrong, and Gwen wasn’t there... Gwen would never be there again. Arthur was alone. All alone in a world he didn’t know...

“The shirt now,” Merlin’s voice was rough, and Arthur was pulled from his thoughts. He looked at Merlin’s face, saw the shadows under his eyes, the redness that rimmed them. Merlin looked like Arthur felt, and then Arthur’s attention was brought down to Merlin’s hands, which shook as they struggled with the buttons on Arthur’s shirt.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked.

“It’s cold today,” Merlin gave a broken smile and then turned towards the wardrobe, pulling out a soft blue shirt. “Arms out,” Merlin ordered.

“Merlin.”

“Arms out,” Merlin demanded, as though, if Arthur didn’t comply, Merlin might shatter into a thousand pieces. Arthur held his arms out and Merlin pulled the material over his head and smoothed the soft material over Arthur’s chest with his shaking hands. Arthur watched as a tear escaped Merlin’s eye.

“There, all dressed for the day, My Lord,” Merlin said softly, his hand still lingering on Arthur’s chest, over his heart.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, raising a hand to Merlin’s face and gently wiping away the tear. “It’s alright. Everything is alright now.”

Merlin took in a shuddering breath, and all Arthur could do was pull him into an embrace. Arthur had been wrong – he wasn’t all alone. It was Merlin who had been all alone for so many years. Arthur wasn’t alone because he had Merlin. And now, Merlin had him – and if nothing else, he would be thankful for that.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said into Arthur’s ear.

Arthur tried to hush him, but Merlin pulled back and paced away a bit, leaving Arthur’s arms empty.

“I wanted things... I wanted things to be the same, just the same as... before, but I-” Merlin broke off in a sniffle, turning to hid his face and scrub at his eyes.

Arthur knew what Merlin was trying to say. He had wanted it too. In those first hours, that first day, after Merlin had revealed his magic, Arthur had wanted nothing more than for them to go back to how they were, because he had known that things would never be the same again and the thought terrified him. He had wanted with all his heart to un-hear the words, to un-see the dragon made from the embers of the fire. He had wanted to wake up in the morning to Merlin’s smile and know him only as a simple country boy who had become the King’s most trusted friend.

But as they had traveled, as Arthur had relearned Merlin, his wishes had changed. Things had changed, but that didn’t mean that they had changed for the worse, because Arthur realized that now he knew all of Merlin. The missing piece of the puzzle had been found, and it meant that Arthur could finally know his friend as well as his friend knew him. For the first time in their decade of friendship, Arthur felt his friendship and trust returned completely. It surprised him, as he had not realized that it had been lacking – but it had. The greater tragedy hadn’t been Merlin’s lies, but rather the fact that Arthur had only discovered the real Merlin as he was dying.  

There had always been something about Merlin that Arthur couldn’t quite put his finger on, something he held back – and now that Merlin had revealed it, Arthur never wanted to have it shut away again.

“It will never be like it was, Merlin,” Arthur said softly, and Merlin turned devastated eyes to him. “We’re different now. The world is different now. Guinevere is dead. I don’t have a kingdom-“

“It’s still your Kingdom-” Merlin said in a rush. “Camelot... no matter what it is called, it will always be your kingdom.”

“I don’t have a kingdom _to run_ ,” Arthur finished. “Regardless as to the ownership of said kingdom – I’m assuming it’s in the fine hands of Gwen’s lineage.”

“And the people,” Merlin muttered. Arthur smiled at the thought that Gwen’s rule allowed for the people to have a say in the affairs of state. It was a good idea.

“You aren’t even the King’s servant anymore, Merlin,” Arthur added.

“I will always be your servant, Arthur,” Merlin insisted, taking a step closer.

“No, Merlin,” Arthur shook his head, using his most authoritative voice. Merlin looked like Arthur might sack him, and the ridiculousness of the notion made Arthur smile. “You will always be my _friend._ ”

Merlin gave him a fond smile, shoulders finally relaxing.

“A friend who brings me my breakfast, does my washing, and cleans my chambers,” Arthur added, smiling broadly.

Merlin rolled his eyes and gave Arthur an unimpressed look, but Arthur saw the corner of his lip twitch.

“And in this friendship, do I still refer to you as ‘Sire’ and ‘My Lord’?” Merlin asked.

“Of course,” Arthur replied, “but only in private. We wouldn’t want to confuse the peasants.”

Merlin laughed.

“Now, if you’re quite finished being a girl,” Arthur said, turning to the sit at his desk. “I’d like to eat my breakfast before it gets cold and then learn about those wagons with engines.”

“As you wish, _My Lord_ ,” Merlin muttered, very insubordinately, behind him.  Maybe not everything was different after all.

*

They didn’t actually get to the motor cars until the late afternoon. The morning was spent learning about television, and the early afternoon was spent watching television. The only reason Arthur stopped watching was because Merlin turned it off and reminded Arthur about his desire to learn about cars.

Then came out the old picture books and Merlin’s little lesson about how motorized vehicles were a relatively new invention, but had improved at quite a quick pace over the years. He also briefly touched on other modes of transportation – such as motorized boats and airplanes.

Finally, Merlin took Arthur outside the house for the first time since he had arrived, in order to show him Merlin’s car. It was called a Mini, Merlin told him – and it did seem fairly small compared to some of the pictures that Merlin had shown him.

“Would you like to go for a ride?” Merlin asked, as he closed the lid over the engine – the bonnet, Merlin had called it. “I could show you the village.”

Arthur looked down the car-path... drive... towards the flat stone road beyond. The sun was low in the sky, but it was still a few hours before sunset. The sky was mostly overcast, but it was quite a pleasant day – the sort of day that would be good for riding.

 “Yes, I’d like that,” Arthur answered, focusing back on Merlin with a smile. Merlin returned it and then opened the door of the car, gesturing Arthur to get inside. Arthur did so, feeling slightly awkward as he ducked and figured out how to fold his body into the seat. Once he was all tucked into the car, Merlin shut the door and then ran around to the other side and got in behind the steering wheel.

“You need to put on your seatbelt,” Merlin instructed, and then demonstrated by putting on his own. Arthur mimicked.

“Seems a bit unnecessary,” Arthur said. “The doors are shut and the road looks smooth.”

Merlin just smiled, placing a key into a keyhole by the steering wheel and turning. The car made a great noise and began to vibrate a little.

“Ready?” Merlin asked.

Arthur nodded, suddenly feeling a little unsure.

The car started moving forward at a canter speed. Arthur wasn’t sure how he felt about not being in control. Merlin’s feet were doing something below the steering wheel, and he kept moving a lever that sat between them.  It wasn’t so bad though.

Then they reached the road and Merlin paused for a moment before turning to right, sweeping the car out to the far side of the road, and then suddenly they were galloping – no, not galloping, they were going faster than any horse was capable of. Yet the ride was smooth, if Arthur closed his eyes, he couldn’t tell their speed, there were just the vibrations of the engine, unless Merlin went around a corner, and then Arthur found himself being pressed to one side. If he opened his eyes, it was to see the trees moving by at an alarming rate.

“Fast, yeah?” Merlin said over the sound of the engine. “See what I mean? Bloody convenient, it used to take me a good hour to get to town by foot – now it’s just a five minute drive ‘round the lake.”

“Hm,” Arthur managed, his heart in his throat.

“Too fast?” Merlin asked, and Arthur glanced over to find Merlin looking at him, smile fading.

“Eyes on the road!” Arthur said. “You’ll get us both killed after only two days, you idiot!”

Merlin laughed at him - _laughed_ at him – but he did turn back to look at the road, and Arthur noticed that they slowed just a little, not nearly enough, but a little.

“It’s something you have to get used to,” Merlin said.

The whole world was something he had to get used to.

Merlin slowed even further when the first stone buildings started to appear. They had reached the village. It wasn’t too much smaller than Camelot’s lower town, really. There were a few people out walking, some with dogs on leashes. A few waved at them as they drove by, Merlin waving back with a smile. Arthur could feel their scrutiny, it was nothing he wasn’t used to, of course – but it still felt a bit unwelcome.

Merlin pointed at buildings and told Arthur what they were – the grocery, the post office, the town hall, and the tavern.

“Would you like to go to the tavern for supper?” Merlin asked, pulling the car to a stop out in front of the building.

Arthur smiled, remembering all the times he had dragged Merlin into taverns on their journeys – much against Merlin’s will, most of the time.

“I don’t know, Merlin,” Arthur sighed, “I wouldn’t want to encourage your bad habits.”

“I think we both know that I was never in the tavern, Arthur,” Merlin laughed. “Come on, then.” Merlin opened his door and slid out of the car.

Arther sat there a little dumbfounded for two reasons that had nothing to do with each other. The first reason was that no, he hadn’t known that Merlin was never in the tavern. All at once, the betrayal he had felt days previously seemed to hurt anew. The second reason was because he had no idea how to open his door. It seemed, though, that Merlin had realized this because he opened Arthur’s door for him a second later.

“Sorry, I forgot- It’s this lever here,” Merlin pointed at the part of the door in question.

Arthur nodded at the information and got out of the car. He took a deep breath and pushed the rest of his thoughts to the back of his mind. There would be time to address Merlin’s various lies later, when they were out of the public eye.

Before they entered the tavern, Merlin pulled Arthur to a stop just outside the door.

“I suppose I should have mentioned this earlier,” Merlin said. “But if you talk to anyone, and it comes up... you can’t use anyone’s names. Gwaine, Percival, Lancelot, _Guinevere –_ the names are too well known, legends, and they aren’t as common anymore. It will raise to many questions.”

“What about our names?” Arthur asked.

“Arthur is a common enough name,” Merlin smiled, “and thankfully, it was the name Emrys that become a legend in my case. Very few people know the name of Merlin, and half that do still think it nothing but the name of a manservant.”

With that, Merlin pushed open the door to the tavern. The inside was clean and well kept. Everything was made out of wood so dark that it was nearly black. There was a television in one corner. Low tables sat around the edges of the room and by the windows, but the space was dominated by the large bar in the centre, behind which stood a friendly looking barman. There were two other gentleman at one end of the bar, closest to the television. Merlin approached the barman with a smile on his face.

“Rhys?” He greeted. “Hi, my name is Merlin. My uncle told me that I should introduce myself when I arrived in town.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Rhys smiled in greeting. It was the smile one gives a stranger, and it struck Arthur how odd this must be for Merlin, because he had already known Rhys. He had been Rhys’ friend – he had been Rhys’ _grandfather’s_ friend.

“This is my friend, Arthur,” Merlin introduced him.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Arthur said, reaching forward to shake Rhys’ hand. Rhys returned the handshake over the bar.

“How are you settling in, boys?” Rhys asked. “I haven’t been down the road in a good while. I hope the house is still in good repair.”

“It is,” Merlin said. “We’ve settled in well.”

“Glad to hear it,” Rhys replied.

“We were just driving around the town, getting a feel for it – thought we might stop in for a bite,” Merlin continued. “My uncle said you make a good shepherd’s pie.”

Rhys laughed, “I do. I hope he’s settled well in the city. I’ll miss the old codger. Bit of a shock when he came in yesterday and said he was leaving, just like that.”

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed. “Well, it was... all a bit sudden for us as well.”

Rhys turned his gaze to Arthur with a kind smile. Arthur shifted on his feet, unsure what to do with the man’s sympathy. “Go grab a table then. I’ll put your order in with Rose in the kitchen. Anything to drink?”

“Just water for me, thanks,” Merlin replied. “I’ve still got to get us home, and I dare say I’m a bit of a lightweight. Arthur will have your best ale though.”

“Ha, the apple didn’t fall far from the family tree then, did it,” Rhys laughed. “I can see it, you know – around the eyes and in the jaw.”

Merlin smiled. “I get that a lot.”

They found a seat not far from the men at the end of the bar, who had been pretty blatantly listening in on their entire conversation with the barman.

“Hello,” Merlin greeted them, as though he didn’t know them – but Arthur realized that he must, because he knew Merlin. Merlin never spoke to anyone unfamiliar in a taverns, paranoid that one wrong move would start a bar fight – because, of course, it frequently did.

“Hello,” one of the men replied. “You’ll have to forgive my curiosity. Rhys did tell me about the reasons for you moving to town. I hope you can forgive small-town gossip – not much exciting happens around here. My name is John – Dr. John Davidson. I’m the local physician.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Merlin said, shaking his hand. “My uncle did warn me that news travels fast in a small town, but I figured it would probably be for the best if it did. That way, well, we wouldn’t have to go over the whole story every time.”

John nodded with a sympathetic look that made Arthur uncomfortable again. Before John could speak though, the second man was introducing himself as Simon, who apparently was a former university professor who had retired to the small village some five years previous. Arthur wasn’t sure what a university or professor was, but he kept his mouth shut and just nodded and smiled along with Merlin.

Rhys came over then with Arthur’s drink, and admonished the two older gentlemen for disturbing Merlin and Arthur, but when Merlin smiled and said it was okay, he pulled up a barstool himself and started chatting as well.

“Are you going to be taking over your uncle’s shop?” Rhys asked.

“Shop?” Arthur found himself asking.

“My uncle owns an antiques shop in town,” Merlin explained. “You know, selling old furniture and such.” He turned back to the men, answering their question next, “Yes, probably. I’ll get a bit settled first. Maybe keep it closed for another week or two, but then open it back up.”

“You run a shop?” Arthur asked, still trying to wrap his head around it.

“I will, yes,” Merlin answered.

“But you trained as a physician. Why are you running a shop?” Arthur pressed. Merlin hadn’t just trained under any physician either – he had trained under the best physician in the kingdom.  Arthur had made fun of him, certainly, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t recognize that Merlin would one day take over for Gaius – and be Arthur’s court physician just as Gaius has been Uther’s.

“Did you?” John exclaimed, delighted.

“He trained under Ga-“ Arthur started, but then realized that Merlin was staring at him with wide-eyes, and shaking his head. Right, Arthur was meant to be lying. He quickly cut himself off, and restarted the word to something else, so that it came out as, “Ga-...grandfather. My grandfather.” Merlin’s brow furrowed. “Your grandfather?” Arthur tried.

Arthur was not very good at lying, as it turned out.  He resisted the urge to slump in his chair and instead tried to communicate how frustrated he was to Merlin without words.

“I never finished, Arthur,” Merlin said softly, and then added, “It’s okay. You just forgot for a moment.” Because Arthur had forgotten – he had completely forgotten that this Merlin wasn’t the Merlin he knew – that he was in the wrong time and that Merlin apparently now sold old things to new people, and wasn’t a physician’s apprentice at all.

“I was studying medicine,” Merlin went on to explain to the other men, “but then Arthur’s father hired me to be Arthur’s personal assistant, and well – I liked that job far more than medicine when it came right down to it. So, I never did finish my studies.”

“Still, handy education to have now, considering,” Simon said, glancing at Arthur, again with sympathy. Merlin had claimed that this was nothing like the “simpleton” incident, but it was starting to feel more and more like that had been a lie.

“Considering how clumsy I am, yes,” Merlin smiled, and Arthur felt Merlin’s foot press against his under the table. “Arthur will gladly tell you stories, I’m sure.”

“Merlin trips over air,” Arthur stated flatly. “It’s utterly ridiculous and I’m embarrassed to be seen in public with him.”

John and Simon stared at them in shock, before Merlin smiled so wide that he was in danger of breaking his face. Arthur couldn’t help but feel his foul mood slipping away and feeling the corners of his lips turn up in response. Then the two older men started laughing along with Merlin, and Arthur pressed his foot back against Merlin’s, for reasons that he didn’t bother to acknowledge.

Rhys slipped off to the kitchen then, and returned with their food. John and Simon both returned to their own conversation, while Merlin and Arthur ate. The food was delicious and the ale was good as well.

A couple came into the bar, taking Rhys’ attention away as they sat at one of the tables on the other side of the restaurant – both gave them all a wave before they sat down. Afterwards, a few more people trickled in – the customers were mostly men. Only a few introduced themselves to Arthur and Merlin, though even the ones who didn’t gave a friendly nod.

The sun was low enough in the sky, that the bar had grown even dimmer. Arthur looked at the unlit candle at their table just as Merlin waved a hand over it – lighting the wick with nothing more than a thought, it seemed.

Arthur glanced up immediately, but he had missed seeing the gold of Merlin’s eyes. Merlin wasn’t even looking at him. His gaze had moved on to Simon, who had gotten up to turn on the television.

It was one thing to know that magic was accepted, it was another to see Merlin use it so openly. It still set Arthur’s heart racing. Merlin had already explained that magic users made up a small percentage of the population, but none were as powerful as Merlin or Morgana, and most likely no one ever would be again.

“Is there a match tonight?” Merlin asked Simon, completely oblivious to Arthur’s racing heart. It only served to drive home that while lighting a candle with a thought would have been a death sentence in Camelot, it was innocuous here.

“Only the final,” Simon replied sarcastically, causing the men in the immediate vicinity to chuckle.

“My god, I’d completely lost track,” Merlin exclaimed, turning in his chair to better view the television.

As Merlin and the other men launched into a conversation that Arthur couldn’t follow, the television displayed a green field with various men kicking a ball up and down it – while unseen people narrated the events. Arthur would have thought that the narration might have cleared up his confusion, but it didn’t.

Instead, Arthur found himself watching Merlin. Merlin talked with the men so easily, arguing with familiarity that they apparently didn’t pick up on – besides the occasional chuckle and muttered, “just like your uncle.” Arthur realized that these men had been Merlin’s friends too.

He looked over towards Rhys, who stood behind the bar, and was surprised to meet his gaze. Rhys gave him a nod then motioned him over. Arthur wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that Merlin didn’t even notice him getting up, too busy yelling about something that was happening on the television.

Arthur sat down at the bar at the far end from where the television was, so that it would be easier for him to hear whatever Rhys wanted to say.

“You were looking a little overwhelmed,” Rhys smiled. “You don’t remember football, I take it.”

Arthur shook his head, “Not really, no.”

Rhys only nodded.

“I’m not a simpleton,” Arthur found himself saying.

“Hey now, I never said that, nor did the thought even enter my mind,” Rhys replied calmly. Arthur immediately felt bad for the accusation.

“Another pint?” Rhys offered, already picking up an empty glass.

Arthur glanced over at Merlin, who was still enraptured with the football and his friends.

“I don’t have...”

“On the house,” Rhys said, pouring the ale. “Consider it a thank you for your service to our country.”

Arthur wasn’t sure what to say. It had been his duty as King, but he could hardly tell Rhys that. “I...” he tried, but then just decided to say, “Thank you.”

“You’ve sacrificed a good deal for Queen and country,” Rhys continued. “A pint is the least I can do.”

Arthur just smiled. Queen, Rhys had said. Arthur really needed to finish reading Merlin’s record. For the time being, he pictured Gwen on the throne, and thought yes, even if he hadn’t been King, even if he hadn’t been her husband, he would have marched to his death under Gwen’s banner.

“Do you mind me asking, what DO you remember?” Rhys asked then, and Arthur found himself looking over at Merlin. They hadn’t discussed this – what Arthur should tell people. He thought of Merlin telling him that the easiest way to lie was to be as truthful as possible.

“I remember Merlin,” Arthur said, looking briefly at Rhys, and then glancing back over at Merlin.

As though his name had summoned him, Merlin seemed to notice that Arthur was no longer at their table, and his jovial expression momentarily turned to panic before he spotted Arthur at the bar. Arthur smiled at him and watched as Merlin relaxed again. Arthur motioned for Merlin to stay with his friends, because somehow he knew that Merlin would come over to him otherwise. Merlin nodded, and turned his attention back to Simon and John, who seemed to be in yet another argument of some sort.

“I remember people,” Arthur continued, turning his attention back on Rhys. “I just don’t remember....” Arthur waved his hand vaguely, because he didn’t actually want to admit that he didn’t know anything at all about the world.

“The details?” Rhys guessed.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Arthur agreed.

“Well, if you ever need anything, you just let me know,” Rhys replied. “I’m sure it must feel pretty rough right now, but you’re alive and that’s what matters most.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Arthur said.

“I could explain football to you, if you’d like,” Rhys offered. Arthur eyed the television and then Merlin watching the television.

“If it’s not too much trouble...”

*

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said in the silence of the car on the way home. Arthur looked away from the mesmerizing sight of the illuminated road in front of them and glanced over at Merlin. “I got a bit distracted. I didn’t mean to... that is, I hope you weren’t too bored.”

“How long have you known them?” Arthur asked.

“Picked up on that, did you?” Merlin smiled. “I’ve known John for twenty years, Simon for five. I’ve known Rhys since he was still inside his mother... everyone else, well, somewhere in between those.  I’d often close up the shop and then go over to the tavern, you know... to watch the match, have someone else’s cooking for a change.”

Arthur hummed.

“I hope it wasn’t too much for you,” Merlin said.

“Not at all,” Arthur replied, though it had been a bit.

Arthur felt tired, and his head ached from the noise of the television and conversations in the tavern. When they arrived back at Merlin’s house, Arthur went up to his room and started changing into his bed clothes – Merlin following and helping as usual.

Once Arthur was alone, he bought Merlin’s heavy bound record over to the bed and opened it where he had left off.  He found himself staring at the page and not actually reading it, as his mind whirled, thinking about television, football, Merlin laughing with his friends, cars, the feeling of being treated like a simpleton – no, that wasn’t right, it was more actually _feeling_ like a simpleton. The world was so different and Arthur was not. He thought of Merlin lighting the candle on the table. He thought of dragons made of embers and the deep sadness of betrayal.

He sighed and lay the record on the bedside table. If all he was going to do was think, then he could do that in the dark. He clicked off the lamp and pulled the blankets up around him. Out in the hall, he heard the floor squeak as Merlin walked by. He listened, and realized he could hear Merlin settle into bed. Merlin must have left his door open.

A few minutes later, Arthur was roused from his thoughts – or rather, his near sleep – by the sound of Merlin walking down the hall again. Where was he going? Only the footsteps seemed to stop, and then retreat, and Arthur once again heard Merlin settling back into bed. Arthur went back to his thoughts, this time, thinking of Merlin defeating Morgana’s Saxon mercenaries as they fled to Avalon-

Arthur once again heard the floor squeak as Merlin walked out into the hallway, pausing yet again outside Arthur’s door, then retreating, then returning, then retreating, then returning...

“Merlin,” Arthur called out.

Merlin came into the room immediately, then just stood there by the door. Arthur couldn’t really see more than a vague silhouette, illuminated from the dull light of the hallway.

“Merlin, what are you doing?” Arthur asked.

“I... did you need something, Sire?” Merlin asked.

“I need you to stop pacing the hallway like a madman,” Arthur grumbled. “What on earth are you doing out there?”

“Nothing,” Merlin said, “I’m sorry. I’ll stop. Sorry.”

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed. “Stop lying to me.”

Merlin stilled by the door and silence hung between them for a long moment, before Merlin broke it.

“It’s stupid.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Arthur replied. “It is _you_ after all.”

Merlin huffed.

“It’s just,” Merlin started. “I lie in bed, and I start thinking ‘what if he’s not really here? What if you’ve finally lost it, Merlin, and you’re just imagining things.’”

“Merlin...”

“It’s why I took you to the pub tonight, I... I needed to see whether...”

“You needed to see whether other people could see me too,” Arthur realized. He thought of his comment that first day, joking that Merlin had gone mad through the years, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably. “Have you... ever... before?”

“No,” Merlin said.

Arthur nodded, though he wasn’t sure Merlin could see it in the dark.

“So, you’re not mad,” Arthur said. “Why are you still worried that I’m not here?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin said after a pause. “I told you – it’s stupid.”

Arthur took a deep breath and let it out slowly, thinking.

“Do you have a bed roll?” Arthur asked.

“Yes?” Merlin replied.

“If it... would make things easier for you,” Arthur said. “You could... sleep on the floor in here...by the fireplace.”

“Really?” Merlin asked, as though Arthur had just offered him the keys to Camelot’s vaults.

“Before I change my mind, Merlin,” Arthur grumbled. “I would like to sleep at some point tonight.”

Merlin fled the room, and Arthur heard a loud rummaging sound across the hall – he found himself smiling and cringing in equal parts as he pictured the disaster Merlin was making of his room. Then he heard a triumphant noise, and Merlin reappeared a moment later, disheveled, carrying a bundle of blankets in his arms. With a single word from Merlin, a fire roared to life in the empty fireplace. Arthur watched as Merlin pushed the chairs out of the way with nothing more than a flash of gold in his eyes, and then laid out his bed roll and blankets.

Arthur’s heart was racing again.

“Goodnight, My Lord,” Merlin called over with a smile.

“Goodnight, Merlin,” Arthur replied, trying to take deep breaths and remember that Merlin had always had magic. Always. He had magic when Arthur had beaten him to the ground during training. Magic, as he cowered behind the shield he held out for Arthur to strike. He had magic while nervously putting on chainmail, reading to defend his village... and, Arthur suddenly realized, Merlin’s friend Will probably hadn’t been the sorcerer that day-

Across the room, Merlin shifted oddly. Arthur cracked an eye open to see Merlin sitting up, looking over at him. Before Arthur could say anything, Merlin lay back down.

Arthur closed his eyes and went back to thinking about other times when Merlin had lied to him... but then, his mind flew to a memory of Merlin walking into Uther’s Court and declaring that he was the sorcerer and not Gwen. Arthur felt such a wave of fondness for the realization that Merlin had actually been – he’d actually been telling the truth and Arthur had-

Across the room, Merlin shifted oddly again. Arthur, once again, opened an eye, and, once again, Merlin was sitting up, looking over at him. Merlin lay back down. Arthur wondered if he had made a noise, but for all Arthur could tell, he had been lying perfectly still and breathing quietly.

Arthur thought of the times Merlin was absent. He thought about Gaius telling him that he was in the tavern. He thought of the time he punished Merlin by making George give him lessons on a job that Merlin had already done for close to six years. He thought of Merlin’s words earlier that night – _I think we both know I was never in the tavern_. Arthur wondered where Merlin had been, if not-

Across the room, Merlin sat up again.

“Merlin, what are you doing?” Arthur asked.

“Sleeping!” Merlin declared.

“You are not – you’re... being a squirrel.”

“I- what?”

“Why do you keep sitting up?”

“I just... you’re.... very quiet when you sleep,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur rubbed a hand across his forehead and breathed out, trying to muster his patience and understanding. He thought of Merlin as he knew him, the Merlin he knew in Camelot, the Merlin he rediscovered while he died slowly, too late to change the laws, too late to tell Gwen to look after Merlin, to not let Camelot burn him in the square... and Merlin’s voice screaming, yelling at him not to leave him from what sounded like very far away.

Across the room, Merlin sat up.

“Get in the bed, Merlin,” Arthur ordered. “Or so help me I will kill you with whatever weapon I find first.”

“What?” Merlin squeaked.

“The bed, Merlin, now!” Arthur punctuated his sentence by throwing back the bed covers beside him.

“Yes, Sire,” Merlin said, and he scrambled across the room and dove under the covers. Arthur could practically hear his heart hammering as he lay awkwardly beside him.

Arthur reached over and grabbed Merlin’s wrist that was furthest from him, pulling it so that Merlin rolled onto his side, eyes wide. Arthur lay back down on his back and placed Merlin’s hand on his chest. He took a deep breath and then let it out, Merlin’s hand rising and lowering along with Arthur’s chest.

“There. Alive,” Arthur said. “Now go to sleep.”

Merlin started pulling back his hand. Arthur caught his wrist and pulled the hand back to his chest. Arthur could feel Merlin’s pulse racing. If he was going to get any sleep, he needed to calm Merlin down.

“Tell me about Camelot, Merlin,” Arthur said, softly.

“I... the record- You’ve read-” Merlin stammered.

“No,” Arthur said. “Tell me about _your_ Camelot. Tell me about... tell me about the day you arrived, the day you first met Gaius...tell me what I don’t know.”

He heard Merlin swallow beside him, the fingers on his chest pressing down, as though Merlin wanted to grip Arthur’s heart.

“I walked,” Merlin said. “It took me nearly a fortnight. I remember coming over the hill... you know the one... and seeing castle for the first time. I’d never seen such a large city before, such a large place. There were so many people...”

Arthur listened, and imagined, he saw Merlin as he was back then – young, chubby-cheeked, a country boy with a deadly secret.  When he heard that the very first thing Merlin had seen in Camelot was someone being put to death for sorcery, he covered Merlin’s hand with his own, briefly pressing it into his chest, but he didn’t interrupt.

At some point, Arthur fell asleep to Merlin’s voice. He dreamt of a dragon calling his name. He dreamt of staring into large golden eyes, and a deep voice telling him that he was there for Merlin... that they were two sides of the same coin... that a great crime had been committed and it was Arthur’s destiny to make it right.

*

In the morning, there was a brief moment when Arthur thought that it was Gwen beside him. The crushing grief that hit him when he remembered that it was Merlin made his breath hitch. Merlin slept on, oblivious.  So, naturally, Arthur woke Merlin up by shoving him out of bed and demanding breakfast immediately, and then laughing at him as he scrambled out the door in a panic.


	3. Chapter 3

Their days fell into a routine after that. Merlin would teach Arthur about the world in the mornings, and then in the afternoons, Arthur would read on his own, either from Merlin’s library, or on the computer. Merlin spent the afternoons trying to find out why Arthur had returned now of all times. According to the legend, Arthur was supposed to return when Camelot needed him most, and yet, Merlin told him that the country that Camelot became was doing quite well.

Arthur’s favourite day had been the day he discovered the invention of the bicycle and the fact that Merlin owned one. They spent the afternoon outside that day, for the first time in what felt like a long while. He only crashed twice before he mastered it. Arthur didn’t even mind so much when a passing car had surprised him and caused him to crash into a hedge, because Merlin’s laughter had echoed across the lake, and it had felt like Arthur was home. Arthur took to riding the bicycle every afternoon for a few hours after that.

Every night, they’d lie in Arthur’s bed, and Merlin would tell Arthur stories about Camelot – about Merlin’s Camelot. He found himself jealous of Lancelot yet again, when he learns that Lancelot knew, from the beginning, of Merlin’s magic. He learned of people Merlin killed for him, how early Merlin had been told that Mordred would be the hand that slew Arthur, how no matter what action he took that night, it would be a betrayal of his king, and so he chose the betrayal that Arthur would not know about for years to come.

And so it was that, during the day, Arthur learned about the modern world and, at night, Arthur learned about Merlin.

Merlin eventually reopened the antique shop and they would spend the days in town, usually they were alone in the store and it was really no different from being at Merlin’s house. Sometimes they’d get customers – “tourists”, Merlin called them – people who’d come to see the lake and take pictures of the “quaint little town.”  Arthur learned that Merlin made most of his money through private dealers, and that the shop didn’t really need to be open for the tourists, but it helped the town if it were, because people loved browsing antique shops and it increased foot traffic to the other shops as a result.

They hadn’t been back to the tavern though. Merlin always insisted that he wanted to get home to do more research and that Arthur’s destiny was far more important than spending the evening at the tavern.

This was why Arthur began spending his afternoons either walking, or riding his bike, around town. There were only so many hours of the day that Arthur could spend with his nose in a book, or trying to work a computer. He missed riding, going on patrol with the knights, and hunting.

Going for a bike ride, or taking a walk around town, seemed to alleviate the longing somewhat. Merlin made sure Arthur always had a bit of money on him, so sometimes Arthur would stop in at the tavern, or pop into the grocer’s, and buy himself a snack. He’d listen in on the conversations around him and see if he could follow them.  People in town would often greet him with a friendly smile and a hello and, over time, there were fewer whispers about his horrible accident and “brain damage” when they thought he couldn’t hear them.

*

He was the other side of town, which, really, wasn’t that far, when he found the little museum. He had been walking around aimlessly for a bit, when quite suddenly rainclouds had gathered and Arthur was forced to duck into a nearby doorway while he contemplated whether he should wait it out or make a run for it. His decision was made when he turned to look at the door and saw the sign “Village Museum” with an “Open” sign hanging just underneath. He went inside.

The Museum was really just one large open room, lined with low filing cabinets and walls plastered with information. There was an older woman sitting behind a counter, knitting. There was an antique till machine sitting on the counter, just like Merlin had in his shop. She looked up at him with a friendly smile, but didn’t pause in her stitches. Above her there was a large painting of the lake with the most beautiful tree Arthur had ever seen in the foreground.

“Getting in out of the rain?”

“Yes,” Arthur replied, forcing his eyes away from the painting. “How much does it cost to look around?”

“Oh,” She said, “it’s by donation, dear, but that’s for the tourists. You don’t have to pay, you’re local now.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said, and then added, “I’m Arthur.” because she obviously already knew who he was, but this way they could pretend it was because he had introduced himself, rather than been the subject of gossip.

“Oh, forgive my manners,” the woman put down her knitting and extended a hand, “I’m Margaret. You’ll have to forgive me, but I’ve seen you bicycling and strolling around for the past few weeks, and well, I do like to keep track of who’s moved in and who’s moved out. It all ends up in the town record, you see.”

“Of course,” Arthur replied. “Did you know old Merlin?”

“Oh, everyone knew Merlin,” Margaret smiled. “He wasn’t that much older than me, when he first came to town...”

While she talked, Arthur found his eyes drifting up to the painting above her again. The tree stood on the shoreline, its branches hanging over the lake, framing, in the distance, the fog covered island and its mysterious tower. Arthur found himself yearning to sit beneath the tree’s canopy, to climb its branches and nap in its boughs...

“...of course, he never did take a wife, so it’s just as well I met my Bertie. Your Merlin reminds me a lot of his uncle, actually.”

“Hm, yes, the family resemblance is quite strong.” Arthur replied. “That’s a beautiful painting.”

“It is, isn’t it,” Margret smiled. “They say it was the tree that originally drew people here. It was the artists that discovered it, when they came to paint the lake. The paintings they produced became so popular that soon more artists came and then eventually the town formed. The mysterious thing about it is that, as soon as the town formed, the tree just up and disappeared one night. Completely gone, they say – not even a hole left in the ground.”

“Really,” Arthur said, but he was already smiling. _‘I became a tree’_ – Merlin had said.

It was a portrait of Merlin.

“Yes, it was quite the scandal at the time,” Margaret continued. “It was eventually decided, by the druids, that people had built too close to the lake and angered the spirits. So, the first town law was passed that no one could build within a certain distance to the lake. It’s why most of the houses here keep a good distance to this day. Now, of course, that’s not the real painting, my dear, the real one’s in a museum in the city and worth more than this town times ten, but that’s the fanciest print you can get of it. Almost like the real thing.”

Margaret, as it turned out, sold smaller prints of the painting.  Arthur bought one.

While the rain poured outside, Arthur poked around the little museum, reading about the different mayors, the fact that the village had sheltered children from the city during a time when the city was being bombed.

“Ah, there’s the sun again,” Margaret announced from beneath the painting sometime later. Arthur looked up from a lengthy description from the druidic council on the sacredness of the lake to find the sun illuminating the front windows in golden light.

“Oh,” Arthur said. “I didn’t realize it was so late – I should get back.”

“Of course, dear,” Margaret smiled.

“Thanks for everything,” Arthur gestured to the room, and then to the bag he was holding with his print inside.

“Not a problem, dear,” Margaret said. “You be sure to say hello to your Merlin for me. You tell him I’m glad you two have moved here, even if it’s temporary. There’s always been a Dragon in the village, and I’d hate to see that tradition end.”

Arthur stopped shot, door half open. He stared at Margaret who continued knitting as though she hadn’t said anything of note.

“There’s always been a dragon in the village?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, dear,” Margaret said.

“I didn’t... “ Arthur glanced at the room. “It didn’t say anywhere-“

“Oh, that sort of stuff is in the filing cabinets, not on the walls,” Margaret smiled.

“Oh,” Arthur said, then tried for a smile. “I’ll have to come back then.”

Margaret smile widened, “That’d be lovely.”

Arthur nodded goodbye and walked back towards the antique shop, confused, and glancing up at the sky far more often than he normally would have. By the time he opened the door to the shop and made sure he and Merlin were alone, he wasn’t quite sure what his heart was doing.

“I thought you said there were no more dragons!”

“That’s right,” Merlin replied looking up from his books, then he leapt off his chair, wide-eyed. “Did you see a dragon?!”

“No!” Arthur said. “I haven’t! Which is why I’m so confused.”

“Oh,” Merlin deflated. Of course he was disappointed, the goddamn dragon always used to give him the answers. “Why are you asking about dragons then?”

“Margaret – the lady at the village museum – she said there’s always been a dragon in the village,” Arthur explained. “What was I supposed to think?”

“Ooohhh... that,” Merlin said, slightly annoyed. “They spelled my name wrong.”

“What?”

“Three hundred years or so ago,” Merlin shrugged. “They used to come by every year, doing this... census thing. I figured what did it matter, they seemed to spell it different every year – except, for some reason, _that_ was the year they decided that spellings had to always be the same, and they... well, they had spelled it wrong. Dragon instead of Dragoon.”

“Your name is Merlin Dragon,” Arthur said.

“Like my uncle before me and his uncle before him,” Merlin smiled.

“Well, that’s much less worrying and far more ridiculous,” Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Sorry, I thought I put that in the record,” Merlin shrugged.

Right, Arthur thought, he really should finish reading that.

*

Arthur hung the print of the tree on the wall beside his bed that night. Merlin didn’t like it.

“Everything in this room, except the lamp, is either authentic or made to look authentic to the century in which you were born, Arthur.” Merlin objected, standing in his boxer-shorts at the foot of the bed. He never got into bed before Arthur did. “It doesn’t fit.”

“Is that why I don’t have an alarm clock?” Arthur asked.

“It’s my job to wake you up in the morning,” Merlin pouted. “You don’t need an alarm clock.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t,” Arthur nodded, and then enjoyed the satisfied look on Merlin’s face before he added, “because every morning I get to wake up to the sound of you scrambling out of bed to run across the hall and turn off the alarm clock in the bedroom you aren’t even using.”

Merlin’s face fell, it wasn’t nearly as funny as Arthur had thought it would be.

“If you want me to stop sleeping-“

“No,” Arthur said. “I just meant that you may as well bring the alarm clock in here.”

“Oh, okay, I could do that.”

“Good. Now, see?”

“See what?”

“Not everything in this room has to be authentic to the century in which I was born,” Arthur smiled.

Merlin glared at him. Now that was the funny expression Arthur had been aiming for.

“Arthur-”

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Arthur stated. “I think the artist really captured your likeness well. All stick thin with stupid leafy hair.”

“Leafy hair?” Merlin asked, as he ran his hands through aforementioned stupid hair, making it stick out in weird directions.

“What’s the expression – if I had a coin for the number of times you showed up to serve me with leaves in your hair...”

“Well excuse me for being waylaid by sorcery on my way to empty your chamber pot, your Highness!”

Arthur laughed. “Go get your alarm clock and then you can tell me all about it.”

Merlin did.

The painting stayed, hung on the wall on Merlin’s side of the bed, so that every time Arthur looked over towards Merlin, he would see the two at once: Merlin the man and Merlin the tree, both sleeping next to Arthur.

*

Arthur returned to the museum a few days later, still spurred on, if anything, by the painting of the tree. Were there other pictures of Merlin? Not just of the tree, but of Merlin the man? Arthur was learning more about Merlin every night, but it was about the Merlin in Camelot – the Merlin that Arthur had known. Now, Arthur wanted to learn about who Merlin had been after Camelot.

He had tried to ask Merlin, but Merlin never wanted to talk about it. He’d just say that it was in the record. Arthur had read the record – well, more than half of it, anyway – and all Merlin ever recorded about himself was his name and the occasional note that Merlin missed him. Arthur wanted to know who Merlin’s friends were, how they got on – if anyone ever suspected or called into question the odd cycle of nephews and uncles that always shared a name and the desire to live in an old stone house by the lake.

Margaret was only too happy to indulge him.

Arthur found himself going to the museum every afternoon for over a week. He’d sit at a small desk, and Margaret would amble back and forth between filing cabinets, looking for every document and photograph she could find that mentioned “the Dragons”. 

She had a copy of the land deed. The minutes of a village meeting from the early days, in which someone accused Merlin of chopping down – well, himself – because he was building a house not twenty yards away from where he, the tree, had once stood.

Margaret told him that, during a time of war when the young men of the village were conscripted, the Dragon house had been cared for by a female relative named “Dolma”.  Arthur’s subsequent fit of uncontrollable laughter was a bit too hard to explain, and in the end, Arthur figured that Margaret probably just believed it was part of the brain damage.

When he brought it up with Merlin that night, Merlin’s response was to pout and tell him to shut-up, and that was worth another fit of laughter – which also caused Merlin to make a comment about brain damage, but it was worth it.

It was when Margaret found the photographs though, that Arthur’s visits to the museum started to feel different. They always brought a smile to Arthur’s face, but more and more, they caused another feeling to creep up slowly and overwhelm him. They were innocent enough photographs – Merlin smiling from among the crew building the new town hall; Merlin on the town council, smiling for the camera; Merlin laughing with people at the pub; Merlin acting as a referee for a game of football... all sort of pictures of Merlin just living his life, surrounded by his friends.

And Arthur would spend all day looking at Merlin laughing, living, and then he’d go home and watch Merlin studiously pour over newspapers, books, the internet – silent and unsmiling, trying to figure out why Arthur was back and what their next step should be.

Arthur, for his part, was assigned readings by Merlin. He had to learn about economic theory, world politics, and the current political and social trends and climate. He had to learn about science and global warming, and the industrial complex. He had to learn about the countries alliances and wars. It was overwhelming and impossible and Arthur always ended up feeling stupid.

The museum was the only break Arthur really got, other than his afternoon bike rides, and at first it had brought him joy – but then, when he saw the hundredth black and white picture of Merlin laughing with old friends, long before Arthur had returned, he couldn’t help the frustration and sadness from welling up inside of him.

That night, he found himself wandering out to watch the sunset over the lake. He took off his shoes, rolled up his pant legs, and stood with the water lapping at his toes, cold, yet comforting.  He stared out at the island and wondered if someone had made a mistake.

*

The next afternoon, Arthur found himself watching Merlin as Merlin read. They were in the shop, but there were no customers. Merlin was behind the till, and Arthur was sitting across the room at one of the desks that were for sale. Both of them had a stack of books beside them, but Merlin was the only one actually reading.

Arthur ignored the book that lay open in front of him, and instead just looked at Merlin – looked at the shadows under his eyes, the furrow in his brow, the line of lips. Arthur had the feeling that Merlin was getting up again at night – that he was waiting until Arthur fell asleep, and then he was getting up to research more. Arthur often woke up to find a cold bed beside him, and Merlin hunched over a book at Arthur’s desk. One morning, Arthur found him asleep in the library, drooling on his computer that had turned itself off sometime in the night.

He couldn’t help but think of the photographs – of Merlin smiling... he wondered how long it had been since he saw Merlin smile, wide, and carefree. He wondered, yet again, if Merlin had had any lovers... had they made him happy? Had they made him happier than Arthur made him?

Arthur wondered how Merlin would react, if Arthur got up, crossed the room, and kissed him... kissed him softly and slowly, as he ran his fingers through the small hairs on the back of Merlin’s neck. Would Merlin kiss him back? Would Merlin smile? Or would Merlin push him away, upset...

“What is it?” Merlin asked.

“Hm? What?” Arthur nearly jumped, pulled suddenly from his thoughts, as he realized that Merlin was staring back at him.

“You’re staring at me strangely,” Merlin said. “Did you have a question?”

“Uh,” Arthur fumbled. “I... was thinking of going to the tavern. Do you want to come?”

“No,” Merlin said. “I brought lunch from home.”

“Right, but... maybe you wanted to chat with Rhys, or see who else might be there...” Arthur tried.

“No, I’ve got...” Merlin gestured to his stack of books, “reading.”

Arthur sighed.  In the pictures, Merlin always looked so happy with his friends, and now... Arthur couldn’t help but feel like all he ever caused Merlin was hardship and loneliness.

Arthur left for the tavern, to clear his head, and to have a little time away from watching Merlin slowly research himself to death.

*

The tavern was nearly empty in the afternoons. There were a few tourists at tables by the windows, but there was no one at the bar. Arthur sat on the side furthest from the other customers and ordered a pint.

“You look a bit glum, Arthur,” Rhys observed, as he passed over the drink.

Arthur shrugged.

“Anything I can help with?” Rhys asked.

Arthur’s instinct was to say no, because he didn’t know how he could possibly explain what the problem was, but then he remembered that Rhys had been Merlin’s friend, before Arthur returned and Merlin had to pretend he was a stranger.  And Arthur thought of Merlin’s stories – about a black flying cat that had been a girl whom Merlin had loved, about the only person who knew Merlin’s secret walking to his death for Arthur, about how Arthur had driven Lancelot away from Camelot in the first place. He thought about Merlin’s father being exiled, and then murdered in front of him. He thought of how Merlin had been isolated and alone in Camelot, hiding who he was because he didn’t want to make Arthur choose between his father and his friend. He thought of the photographs of Merlin laughing, and waking up to find Merlin asleep over his books again that morning. He thought about the growing shadows under Merlin’s eyes.

“I ruin everything,” Arthur found himself saying.

“What?” Rhys replied.

“I’m ruining Merlin’s life,” Arthur clarified. “He was happy, and then I...” Arthur trailed off, but Rhys just stood there, patiently waiting for him to finish his thought, but Arthur could hardly say the truth, so he thought of Merlin’s instructions about how to lie, and he tried to tell the truth as vaguely as possible. “I just... maybe I wasn’t meant to come back. I should have just died and stayed dead. He would have been better off.”

“Hey now,” Rhys said. “Let’s not have that sort of talk.”

“Sorry,” Arthur said. “It’s just... he had a life, and now it’s gone because of me, and I’m not even... I’m useless. I just ruin everything. Always have. I can’t even die correctly.”

Rhys shifted on his feet, as though he wanted to say more, but then a customer called him from one of the tables and he went to see to them. After Rhys had finished attending the customer, he cast Arthur a strange look, and then disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, only to come back out empty handed and begin methodically cleaning the bar. Arthur drank his beer, and wondered how to break it to Merlin that he wasn’t fit to be a statesman in this world, or whatever it was that Merlin expected him to do.

Arthur was nearly done his pint and thinking of ordering another when the door to the tavern opened, and an older woman walked in, smiling at Rhys. She was too old to be Rhys’s wife. She was obviously healthy, but grey-haired, old enough to be Arthur’s grandmother, had he been born in this time instead of centuries before.

“Rhys!” she greeted. “How’s my favourite nephew?”

Well, that answered that question.

“Auntie Jane,” Rhys smiled. “What can I get for you?”

“I was wondering if you had time right now to help me with something,” Rhys’s aunt replied. “I need to get those boxes down from the attic and-“

“Now?” Rhys interrupted. “You’d know I’d love to help, but I’m the only one here today. Rose brought the kids into the city and-“

“Oh,” Jane replied. “Well, I suppose I could do it myself.”

“No,” Rhys protested. “You’ll only end up hurting yourself, if you do it alone – you need someone strong to lift...”

Rhys glanced over at Arthur.

“Arthur,” Rhys said, “Could you maybe... that is, if you don’t have any plans this afternoon-”

"Oh, I don’t want to be a bother,” Jane protested.

“Arthur’s a strong young lad, he could help,” Rhys argued, and then looked back over at Arthur hopefully.

“What needs doing?” Arthur asked.

“I just need a few boxes and odds and ends moved down from the attic,” Jane said.

“I can help,” Arthur said. “I have the time.”

*

Twenty minutes later, Arthur found himself in a dusty attic, carefully waking on the floor joists as he made his way over to a side filled with boxes. Jane’s head was poking up through the trap door.

“Just the ones on the left there and the pieces of the crib, if you could,” Jane said.

“Right,” Arthur said, finding what looked to be disassembled furniture.

While he carefully moved the boxes over to the door, Jane told him about how her son was expecting his first child, and she wanted to set up a nursery in one of her guest rooms for when he visited. Arthur offered his congratulations, and couldn’t help but think of the children he had never had with Gwen. He wished photography had been invented earlier, so that he might be able to see Gwen and Leon’s children – he was sure that they would have been beautiful and he would have loved them as his own.

“Rhys tells me you were a soldier,” Jane said, as Arthur carried the boxes one by one down the ladder.

“Yes.”

“Where were you stationed?”

Arthur didn’t know if Merlin had come up with a lie yet, but he did know the countries where men were currently fighting, so he answered, “Afghanistan, but I could have that wrong – my memory was affected.”

“Yes, Rhys mentioned that as well,” Jane said softly. “It must be difficult, transitioning back. How long has it been since you returned?”

“A few months,” Arthur answered, “but I was asleep for a time before... before I woke up.” Arthur shook his head at himself. He suddenly had much more sympathy for Merlin’s more ridiculous lies in Camelot. “I’ve been in the village a few months. I came here, after I woke up... with Merlin, because he thought it would be good to stay here until... until...” Arthur sighed, that was really the problem wasn’t it. “... until I’m recovered.”

“Oh, so you moved here just shortly before I did!” Jane exclaimed. “How lovely!”

“You’ve just moved here?” Arthur asked, followed by, “Where would you like these boxes now that I’ve gotten them all down?”

“Oh, through here,” Jane said, opening a door a little ways down the hall. Arthur grabbed a box and walked into the room - a room that was already filled with boxes.

“Ah, you really have just moved in,” Arthur said, giving Jane a smile.

“Yes, I retired you see – and I thought it might be nice to move out to the country, be close to my brother and nephew,” Jane said. “I knew my James wanted to have children, and I thought it’d be nice if their Gran lived in the country – so they could enjoy nature when they came to visit. You know, James lives in the city and that’s all well and good for schools, but children need a bit of nature.”

Arthur smiled. “I loved the woods as a child.”

“Yes, exactly,” Jane nodded. “Only, I didn’t expect James to get started on the children quite this quickly and I haven’t had time to set up the guest rooms. It’s all still in boxes and none of the furniture is put together.”

“When is the baby due?” Arthur asked as he looked around the room.

“It’s....well, really... perhaps a month away? Or it could arrive tomorrow! We don’t know,” Jane said. “I’ve certainly got my work cut out for me. Thank you so much for your help.”

“It was no trouble,” Arthur shrugged. He couldn’t think of a single time that anyone had ever asked him to do menial labour... that’s why he had Merlin, after all. Only, Merlin was minding the shop and researching. Arthur wasn’t King – he wasn’t even a prince or a knight. He was just... Arthur... and it had felt good to help someone. Jane, whether she knew it or not, was a citizen of Camelot – and she reminded Arthur a bit of Merlin’s mother, sweet and kind, and doting on her only son.

“I don’t suppose you would consider... that is, I could certainly use a good strong young man like you to help me set up the furniture and help unpack,” Jane said. “I’d be willing to pay you for your time, of course.”

Arthur looked at Jane and then back at the box-filled room, and the afternoon sun shining in through the window – he could see the lake from here, and the tower in its perpetual fog.

“Like a job?”

“If you like,” Jane replied.

“All right,” Arthur said. “You don’t have to pay me though, that’s... not necessary.”

“Are you certain, I don’t mind-”

“I’m certain.”

“A cup of tea then,” Jane replied.

“A cup of tea would be lovely,” Arthur smiled.

*

He told Merlin about it that night, and Merlin made a joke about Arthur’s great destiny being to make friends with all the little old ladies in town. Arthur threw a pillow at him.

“I don’t know much about Jane,” Merlin admitted. “That branch of Rhys’s family left the village for a time. Once Rhys’s father moved back and bought the pub, Jane would come to visit every now and then. I think she worked as a nurse or a doctor in the city. The family were quite proud of her. Rhys told me that she had bought the old Henderson house on Lake Road and was moving back for her retirement – it’s popular to retire to the countryside these days, I suppose. For a time, anyway, then the houses are too much to maintain and everyone wants to send you back to the city to live in a facility.”

Arthur hummed, and rolled over in bed to look at Merlin’s profile.

“She reminds me a bit of your mother,” Arthur said.

Merlin smiled softly. “Harbouring magic users, is she?”

“No,” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Just... she’s all alone in that house, and her son lives far away, and... did you go back and see your mother, after I died?”

“For a time,” Merlin answered.

“Then what happened?”

“She died, Arthur,” Merlin said.

“Right,” Arthur said. “I’m sorry.”

“It was centuries ago.”

“Well, I’m glad you got to see her again. She was... a good mother,” Arthur said.

Merlin hummed an agreement as he drifted off to sleep. Arthur lay still and wished he could have seen Hunith one more time too. He wondered what she would have said if she had known her son would live forever.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Jane and Arthur talked about the village, while Arthur put together the crib and the guest bed. Arthur told Jane about his favourite places – Rhys’ pub, the road around the lake, the little museum and the painting of the tree. He didn’t, of course, tell her the truth about why he liked the tree – just that he thought it was a beautiful painting. This got them derailed into a conversation about whether Arthur liked painting. He had never done it of course, there were no paintings in Camelot – but again, Arthur couldn’t tell her that.

Jane didn’t talk much about herself. She asked about Arthur’s family though, and Arthur told her about his mother dying in childbirth and being raised by his father. He told her about Morgana, though he didn’t use her name – but explained that she was his half-sister, though they didn’t find that out until late in life and she hated their father because of it, and that eventually that came to mean that she hated Arthur too.

This led into a rather lengthy and exhausting conversation about Arthur’s feelings towards his father, and eventually he had to make up a lie to explain why he blamed his father for his mother’s death. He explained that when his mother couldn’t conceive, his father forced her into a risky medical treatment, which inevitably led to her death. Arthur explained that his father then blamed everyone but himself for her death, and Arthur didn’t learn the truth until much later, when, he explained, he found an old diary of his mothers.

After, Jane made tea, and let Arthur drink it in silence for a bit before he walked back to the shop to meet up with Merlin.

The third day of helping Jane, she asked about the war – but Arthur couldn’t come up with lies very well about that, because war was so different now – now that there were machines, guns, cars, and flying things. So Arthur told her that he couldn’t remember, and then he showed her the scar on his side from Mordred’s blade, though again, he claimed he didn’t remember how he had gotten it.

She asked about his friends, and Arthur told her that most of them were dead – in the war.

“But surely you had friends who weren’t in the military,” Jane said.

“Just Merlin,” Arthur shrugged. “All the others... I’ve lost touch with over the years.”

“How about Merlin, does he have many friends?” Jane pressed.

“He did,” Arthur frowned. “He doesn’t see them anymore though, not since... I got back.”

“You don’t look to happy about that,” Jane observed. “Do you want to tell me why? Oh, and could you put these books on that top shelf in alphabetical order by author?”

“Right,” Arthur said, taking the books. “It’s just... Merlin never really had many friends, but he had a few – they were my friends too. But Merlin always, even before, he never really... when I was around, he kind of spent all his time with me, so I suppose he didn’t have much time for friends – plus, he was studying to be a physician, so he was very busy. Then, when I went away... when I... to war... when I was gone, he made lots of friends, but now that I’m back-”

“He’s gone back to ignoring them in favour of spending time with you?” Jane finished.

“Yes,” Arthur agreed, placing a book by someone named Jung next to a book by someone with a very long name beginning with K. “It never really bothered me before, because... well, I suppose I just didn’t notice. I was busy, and I just... Merlin was always there, and I didn’t really question it. I suppose I should have questioned it then too. All I’ve ever done is ruin his life. I don’t know why he... he insists on staying at my side.”

“Perhaps because he loves you,” Jane offered.

“I suppose,” Arthur said, because yes, people were supposed to love their King.

“You nearly died, Arthur,” Jane argued. “I think perhaps it’s natural for Merlin to cling a bit after nearly losing you. I’m sure he’ll soon realize that you aren’t going anywhere and get back in touch with his friends.”

“I suppose,” Arthur repeated with a sigh. She had a point. Not only that, but Arthur hadn’t just nearly died, he had died completely – for centuries – so Merlin had every right to find it a bit unbelievable. Arthur knew this. It was part of the reason why he continued to let Merlin sleep in his bed.

*                                                                                 

By the end of the week, they had the nursery and guest room nearly together and Arthur had the task of hanging paintings on the wall. Jane stood back and told him whether they were straight or not.

“Now, I’ve got this lovely picture of James and his partner on their wedding day,” Jane said, pulling a framed photo out of the box. “Do you think I should put it in the child’s room, so that they have a picture of their daddies?”

Arthur nodded absentmindedly and took the picture, and then Jane’s words caught up to him and he actually stopped and looked down at it. It was a picture of two men, both dressed in formal clothes; one was kissing the other on the cheek while the other smiled.

“That’s my James,” Jane pointed to the one being kissed. “And that’s my son-in-law, Robert.”

“They... your son... married a man?” Arthur asked. “That’s... allowed?”

Jane paused. “Yes, of course it is.”

“Right,” Arthur said out of reflex. “But... it’s not... you’re suppose to... you’re supposed to marry a woman.”

“Suppose to?”

“It’s what’s expected,” Arthur explained. “It’s perfectly fine to be attracted to men, but you don’t... you don’t _act_ on it. You marry a woman, because... that is what’s... done. That is what’s expected of you.”

“Why do you think it’s expected of you?” Jane asked.

“Because it is!” Arthur tried to explain. “My father... if he... he didn’t even approve of my _wife_ , if he had caught me with a man... he would have had us both killed. Then he probably would have gone out and killed twenty more people just for the crime of existing!”

“How about we put this aside and go have a nice cup of tea,” Jane said gently, and Arthur realized that he was still gripping the photo of her son. He let her take it from his hands and place it on top of the nearby dresser, and then he obediently followed her down to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry if... I didn’t mean to... offend,” Arthur tried to apologize. “I just...didn’t know it was allowed, and it was... a shock.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jane said. “It was a more recent event – the government giving equal marriage rights. I should have realized that you might not remember.”

“Right,” Arthur said. “Yes, that’s... that’s all it was.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a wife, Arthur,” Jane said.

“I did,” Arthur replied. “But I... don’t anymore.”

“And your father didn’t approve of the marriage?”

Arthur laughed. “No, he really didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“He believed that she was... below my station. She worked as a maid, and my father... he wanted me to marry someone on a higher social level,” Arthur said. It was the truth, if not a watered down version. His father had wanted him to marry for a political alliance, but Arthur wasn’t royalty anymore.

“Your father sounds like a hard man to please,” Jane stated.

“You have no idea,” Arthur said with a smile, but then sobered when he saw Jane’s sympathetic expression. “He... hated a lot of people. After... after my mother died, he just... it seemed to only get worse with age. I was a disappointment to him.”

“I’m sure that’s not-“

“No, he told me so himself,” Arthur interrupted. “Though, it was... towards the end, and he really wasn’t himself. He got a bit... more violent in his hatred the last times I saw him. Years before, he had told me once that he was proud of me, and that he loved me... and he did cry once, when he thought I had died.”

“Arthur...” Jane said disbelieving.

“I did love him though, despite... I know everyone hated him, but I loved him. He was my father. I just wanted... I wanted him to be proud of me,” Arthur said. “I failed at that too, in the end. He sacrificed my mother to have me, and all I did was disappoint him – I suppose he had a right to be angry.”

“He had no right to make you feel like a failure, Arthur,” Jane said. “Parents should love their children regardless of whether they approve of their choices.”

“Do you approve of your son?” Arthur asked. “Him... marrying a man?”

“I do,” Jane said. “They love each other very much, and Robert makes him happy. That’s all I want – for my son to be happy.”

“You really do remind me of Merlin’s mother,” Arthur smiled. “She was... the same, with Merlin. Kind.”

Jane smiled and then changed the topic, “You must have married quite young, to be divorced already.”

“Yes,” Arthur replied. “I loved her dearly.”

“But it didn’t work out?”

“No, it did, we were very happy-” Arthur protested, and then realized the fault in it. He couldn’t very well tell Jane that his wife was dead. It would raise too many questions. “We were happy,” he repeated, “but I couldn’t... give her everything she deserved. I couldn’t... we... it ended. She married a friend of mine and they were- _are_ happy and have children and they live... far away from here. So, we don’t... talk anymore, which, I mean... I miss them greatly and I don’t mind the... marriage... because she needed things and I was incapable of providing them to her...” _because I was dead_ , is what Arthur couldn’t say. “She’s... another person I failed, I suppose.”

“Now, let’s put a stop to that talk,” Jane said firmly. “It doesn’t sound like you failed your wife at all. You two were obviously very happy and although any marriage ending is a sad event, it sounds like you parted amicably. That sounds like a successful marriage to me. I know the popular belief is that the only successful marriages end in death, but that’s just not true.”

Arthur laughed, because technically the marriage had ended with death. When Jane raised an eyebrow, Arthur just shook his head.

“How did you meet Merlin?” Jane asked.

Arthur thought of the story that Merlin had told the people at the tavern, and repeated it.

“My father hired Merlin to be my personal assistant. Merlin was studying to be a physician under my grandfather... or maybe his grandfather? I forget that bit.” Arthur waved his hand.

“What does a soldier need with a personal assistant?” Jane asked.

“Oh, I wasn’t... well, I sort of... at the time, I was working for my father,” Arthur explained. “I was meant to... follow in his footsteps, you see. He was a very important man, so I had a lot of duties, and a personal assistant was... it was also a bit for show, really, I think. My father had an eye for appearances. It looked better if I had a dedicated manser-...uh, man- a personal assistant man.”

“So, Merlin was your employee?” Jane raised her eyebrows. “Was this before or after your marriage?”

“Before,” Arthur answered. “It was really through Merlin that I met G- my wife. Or well, I had met her before that, she was my sister’s maid – but it was only after Merlin was hired that I started... socializing with her.”

“And what made you decide to join the military, instead of working for your father?” Jane asked.

“My father died,” Arthur said. “I started... working for myself, and with that came the decision to... to fight in the war.”

“And was that before or after your marriage ended?”

“Uh, during?” Arthur answered. “It was... a contributing factor to the end of my marriage.”

“Your wife didn’t approve of your joining the military?”

“No, she did, it just... I was away. “

“I see,” Jane said. “And Merlin, how did he feel about you being away?”

“He missed me,” Arthur answered, thinking about Merlin’s leather bound chronicle and the little personal notes scattered throughout it. “He wrote... he wrote it down in... letters... to me.”

“He must be very happy to have you back,” Jane smiled.

Arthur tried to smile in reply, but he could feel its insincerity.

“Do you not think he is?” Jane asked, brow furrowing.

 “He... had a whole life and I just – I ruined it,” Arthur sighed. “I ruined it by coming back. Now all he does is...  do you think that fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it, do you think maybe they can make mistakes sometimes?”

“Do you?” Jane asked.

“Maybe,” Arthur shrugged. “I just feel that there was a mistake made somewhere. I shouldn’t have come back. It doesn’t make any sense. I should have died.”

“Did you want to die?” Jane asked, calmly, taking another sip of her tea.

“No,” Arthur said. “Even when I knew... even when I knew I was dying, I didn’t want to. I wanted to be saved. I wanted to see my wife again... I wanted... I wanted to see Merlin smile. I just wanted... I wanted him to stop crying.”

Arthur buried his face in his hand, embarrassed by the sudden tears that sprang to his eyes.

“So it’s Merlin’s happiness, rather than your own, that you are most concerned with,” Jane concluded.

“He’s all I have left and the thought that... that I’m ruining his life. I can’t bear it.”

“It can be stressful, being a caregiver,” Jane nodded. “Have you spoken to Merlin about this?”

“No,” Arthur sighed. “He just... he spends all his time researching. When we do talk, it’s usually... about that... or, if I have questions about... the world, and such, that he can explain to me.”

“What is he researching?” Jane asked.

Arthur bit his lip. He wasn’t sure how to explain or which lie to use. He felt bad lying to Jane, who had been nothing but kind to him, and had become, over the past week, a confidant of sorts. Someone Arthur could talk to that didn’t have a history with Merlin – old Merlin.

“He’s trying to find a way to... return me to what I was... before,” Arthur finally said, while staring at his tea.

“He’s concerned about your recovery?” Jane asked to confirm.

“In a way,” Arthur said. “He... he wants me to return to the work that I was doing before – uh, before the battle and my wounds.”

“And what do you want?”

“It’s not about what I want, it’s about what’s possible,” Arthur said, and it wasn’t until it was out of his mouth that he realized that it was the truth – that it wasn’t just Merlin not smiling that was getting to him, it was the reasons why.

“Do you-“

“It’s a lie, Jane,” Arthur interrupted before she could even ask. Just saying the words felt like a weight off his shoulders. “It’s a lie. I’m not going to recover. This is who I am and I can’t go back to who I was before. Everything is different now. It’s not a possible life for me anymore. And I know, I _know_ , that he just wants it to be like it was – I felt the same way at first. I just wanted to wake up in the morning and have it be just the same – but it’s not, and I think he knows it too – he just won’t admit it.”

“Why do you think that is?” Jane asked.

“We were happy then,” Arthur answered, but that wasn’t all and he knew it. “And... we knew our places. We knew... we knew what we were doing, even if it didn’t always feel like it.”

Jane nodded, as though she had known the answer all along. “And now you have to redefine your roles,” she concluded. “You have to find out what it means to be Arthur and what it means to be Merlin, and what it means to together in the world now that things have changed.”

“Yes,” Arthur said. “Yes, exactly.”

“And you believe Merlin thinks the answer is to return to what you were,” Jane continued. “But you-“

“I don’t think that’s the answer,” Arthur finished. “I think he’s wrong. I think we have to be something new. I think... I think we have to explore the new world in order to find where I fit in it.”

“I think,” Jane said, and Arthur leaned in, because he felt like maybe Jane would give him the answer somehow, would give him a clue as to how to fix everything. “I think you should talk to Merlin about all this.”

Arthur felt his shoulders drop, “Oh.”

“It sounds to me like you two are both worrying quite a bit over each other’s happiness,” Jane continued, “and in the process, you’re making yourselves miserable, which only leads to more worry... and well, you see the pattern, don’t you?”

Arthur sat back in his chair. “Oh,” he repeated.

“I have a feeling that you two don’t have the best record of talking to each other about the important stuff?” Jane said, smiling wryly.

Arthur let out a broken laugh. “You could say that, yes.”

*

Arthur didn’t talk to Merlin though, not right away. Instead he spent the weekend reading about the history of homosexuality on the internet. And then lying in bed at night, and staring at Merlin, running ‘what ifs’ through his mind like he hadn’t done...had never let himself do before. Even with Gwen, because it was always easier to pre-emptively accept defeat when it came to his father, and Merlin and Gwen were no different in that regard. Though, though... Arthur had at least been brave enough to sneak around with Gwen, to find out if she felt the same.

Did Merlin feel the same? He had waited hundreds upon hundreds of years for Arthur’s return, but Merlin had always been loyal – and Arthur had learned through Merlin’s late night stories that Merlin would do anything if he felt it served Arthur’s destiny. Loyalty to his king was a much different emotion than love for Arthur. But even at this thought, Arthur couldn’t help remembering – couldn’t help remembering the event that he tried so hard not to remember – blue eyes desperate and full of tears, telling Arthur to stay, that they were almost there, calling to him, screaming for him... Arthur fell asleep at this thought and dreamt of a dragon ride that he had never taken and voices telling him there had been a mistake and that the half cannot hate that which makes it whole.


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur waited until the next evening to talk to Merlin – until the antique shop was closed for the day, and they’d eaten, and Merlin was once again burying himself in research. Arthur knew that Merlin was probably not planning to join Arthur for sleep that evening, which meant that Arthur’s original plan of waiting until they were in bed was out of the question. Arthur had always found it easier to talk to Merlin when they were bedded down for the night, there was something about the lowered voices, and cloak of darkness, that made it far easier to talk about serious things.

Instead, he stood in the middle of the sitting room and tried to think of how to start the conversation.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, trying to pull Merlin’s attention away from the newspapers and books that covered the low table.

Merlin hummed, but didn’t look up.

“I was wondering-“

“I’m trying to figure out if you should be entering politics or joining the military,” Merlin interrupted, but in a way that made it sound like he was answering a question that Arthur had posed to him.

“I don’t want to do either,” Arthur frowned.

Merlin looked up at that. “Well, you’ll have to do one of them... though, if you’re supposed to rule the country as King again, then maybe I should be introducing you to the Royal family somehow, except I’m not sure how that would work.”

“To what end?” Arthur asked, and he knew his exasperation was evident in the tone.

“To fulfill your destiny, Arthur,” Merlin replied slowly.

“Haven’t I already done that?” Arthur said. “You said my destiny was to unite the kingdoms of Albion and restore magic. Hasn’t that happened? Am I not standing in a united Albion with a known sorcerer?”

“Yes, but... you’re supposed to return when Camelot needs you,” Merlin argued. “I have to figure out why... and what we should be doing-“

“If I’m supposed to return when Camelot needs me... well, Camelot knows where to find me,” Arthur said.

Merlin gave him an unimpressed look.

“Listen,” Arthur continued, “before – my destiny was inescapable – no matter what path you tried to take, it always seemed to end up the same. Didn’t it? So, why don’t we just... Enjoy ourselves, while we wait for whatever is coming our way.”

“Enjoy ourselves?” Merlin repeated, his expression twisting in a way that had Arthur’s stomach sinking. “Arthur, I can’t... I can’t...”

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t fail you again, Arthur,” Merlin said, his eyes welling with tears. “Please, I need to be prepared... I need to be better than I was before.”

“What are you talking about?” Arthur asked, feeling the last of his anger leave him as it was replaced with confusion. “Merlin, you’ve never failed me. Not once.”

Merlin laughed a bitter laugh that brought Arthur up short.

“Haven’t you been listening?! Every night, I lie beside you in bed and all I do is tell you stories about how I’ve failed you.”

“What? I don’t understand, Merlin. How could you think that?”

Merlin lowered his head, staring down sightlessly at the coffee table. Arthur watched as Merlin scrubbed at his eyes and sniffed loudly in the sudden quiet of the room.

“Arthur, you _died_ ,” Merlin all but whispered. “You died, and if... if I had just been a little quicker – if I had sought out Mordred before he reached you instead of helping your army... if I had gotten you to the lake quicker, if I had... there were so many things I should have done differently. I’ve been over and over them, and I... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You were supposed to enjoy your kingdom. _You_ were supposed to restore magic and enjoy the peace you fought for... and my... incompetence... stole that life away from you.”

All Arthur could do was stare, gobsmacked, as Merlin wiped at the tears that ran down his face.

“But this time I’ll do better,” Merlin said. “I won’t fail you again, I promise.”

 Arthur moved then. Quickly pushing Merlin’s papers and books onto the floor, he sat on the coffee table facing Merlin.

“Hey-” Merlin started, reaching out belatedly as if to catch the already fallen books.

“Look at me, Merlin,” Arthur interrupted.

Merlin sniffed and then raised his eyes to meet Arthur’s.

“You have never failed me,” Arthur began, keeping his tone firm and steady. “The events that led to my death were because of my own actions, not yours.” Merlin’s mouth parted, but Arthur barrelled on before he could protest. “No, don’t interrupt. I’ve listened to your stories every night, and not once did I believe that you failed me. If anything, your stories have only taught me that I was more loved than I ever knew and that I was a fool to not treasure that love, to take it for granted as I so often did. Merlin... I... “

“But you were supposed-“

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupted again. “Is this not still my Kingdom?”

“Of course it is,” Merlin answered immediately. “It will always be your Kingdom.”

“And has magic not been restored to it?”

“It has...” Merlin answered, his brow furrowing.

“Then let me enjoy the peace that I fought for, Merlin. Let me live in the Kingdom that I created.” Arthur couldn’t help but reach forward and wipe at the left over tears on Merlin’s stunned face. “Merlin... I’ve been given a second life. I don’t want to spend it the way I spent my first one. All I’ve ever known is how to be the good son, the good king, the good soldier...  I want to be something new. I want to _do_ something new.”

“What...” Merlin began, his voice cracking with leftover emotion. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to be Arthur.”

“You’ve always been Arthur,” Merlin replied. “That’s not new.”

“I want to only be Arthur,” Arthur said with a friendly glare. “Just Arthur, without the weight of the entire kingdom on my shoulders... and I want... I want to go on adventure. I want to travel and actually see my kingdom and then the rest of the world.”

“And what should I do?” Merlin asked.

“Come with me,” Arthur answered, with a smile, and then he found himself reaching forward and clasping Merlin’s hand, leaving their entwined fingers resting on Merlin’s leg. “Come on an adventure with me, Merlin.”

“Okay,” Merlin said on a breath, his lips finally curving up into a small smile.

Arthur leaned forward and gave him a chaste kiss before the desire to do so had even registered in his mind. He pulled back cautiously, taking in Merlin’s surprise.

“There’s also that,” Arthur said. He let Merlin’s hand go as he stood slowly. “I’m going to go upstairs to bed. I hope you’ll join me.”

Arthur tried to keep his mind carefully blank as he prepared for bed. All the while though, he could feel that everything was about to change – as though it was the moment before battle, and he did not know if he would win or lose. He didn’t bother to put on a shirt, in these warmer days of summer, it was nice to go without.

The space beside him was empty when he got into bed. He listened as Merlin climbed the stairs and went to his own room, and he tried to accept the response for what it was... but then Merlin reappeared, dressed in his sleep clothes – a thin, loose, t-shirt, and boxer shorts.

As Merlin slipped under the covers, Arthur turned onto his side to face him. Merlin mirrored the pose.

“You kissed me,” Merlin whispered.

“I did,” Arthur confirmed, he couldn’t tell if Merlin had welcomed the kiss or hated it. Before, he could ask though, Merlin was reaching across the space between them, tentatively. Arthur kept quiet, and simply watched Merlin’s eyes as Merlin’s fingers gently touched Arthur’s temple. Merlin ran his fingers gently over Arthur’s forehead, down the length of his nose, and then, softly, across Arthur’s lips.

“Are you sure you’re real?” Merlin asked.

Arthur smiled, reached over, and pinched Merlin so hard on the arm that it was sure to leave a bruise.

“OW! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?” Merlin yelled, flinching away from Arthur and rubbing his arm with an angry pout.

“That seems real,” Arthur shrugged.

“You... prat!” Merlin spluttered. “You complete... clotpole. I can’t believe you just-” and then Merlin was laughing and Arthur laughed along with him. And it didn’t matter to Arthur anymore whether Merlin was interested in romance or not, because Arthur knew that no matter what, he and Merlin would be okay.

“I love you so much, Arthur,” Merlin said, on his last breath of laughter.

“I love you too,” Arthur smiled.

“I... you loved Gwen,” Merlin said, the smile on his face fading.

“I did. I still do,” Arthur replied, the now familiar pain of her absence flaring in his heart at the words. “And Guinevere loved me... and she also loved Lancelot...and, after I died, she grew to love Leon. It doesn’t mean that she loved me less. You loved that girl, Freya, didn’t you? And perhaps Gwaine?... I never could tell on that one. I know he loved you dearly.”

Merlin simply nodded, returning back to staring at Arthur with a bit of disbelief.

“Should I pinch you again?” Arthur asked.

“No!” Merlin pulled his arms in tight, even though Arthur hadn’t made a move to reach for them.

“There was always something about you, Merlin,” Arthur explained softly, “but I think I knew, somehow, that there was part of yourself that you hid from me – and, it made it easier to ignore how deep my affections for you ran, because... it was as though you had already given me your answer. And in any case, if my father had found out-“

“I’d have been hanged twice over,” Merlin snorted a laugh.

“Now, though,” Arthur continued with a small smile, “Now that I know all of you... it’s... a little harder for me to ignore. If you... don’t feel the same, then I understand. I just thought you should know-”

“You... dollophead,” Merlin sighed, and then leaned forward and captured Arthur in a kiss.

Arthur closed his eyes and returned it, taking Merlin’s bottom lip into his slightly parted mouth for a moment, running his tongue along it gently.

Merlin’s hand came up to rest on his shoulder, and Arthur returned the gesture, though he couldn’t resist the temptation to run his hand down Merlin’s back, over his hip, and then back up his side. He then splayed his hand across Merlin’s back as he pulled them closer together, all the while continuing to kiss Merlin. With each breath, the kiss got deeper, until their tongues were drawing against each other, their breathing was turning heavier, and Arthur was hard.

Arthur ran his hand down Merlin’s back again, over his hip, feeling the soft skin exposed between his shorts and the thin loose shirt he always wore to bed. On an inhale, Arthur dipped his fingers just below Merlin’s waistband, paused, and breathed out, “can I?”   

 “Yes,” Merlin gasped back, and Arthur kissed him again, as he slid his hand down, finding Merlin’s hard length waiting for him. He ran his palm along it, swallowing Merlin’s answering moan, and then reached further down to cup and give Merlin’s balls a gentle squeeze. Merlin’s hips rolled forward, his breath stuttering.  Arthur let his own moan escape. It was the first time he had ever held another man in his hands, and he never wanted to stop, but the waistband of Merlin’s shorts was digging into Arthur’s arm. So Arthur withdrew his hand slowly.

“Arthur, please,” Merlin moaned, his hips jerking forward again. Arthur shushed him quietly, and started carefully easing Merlin’s shorts down to his thighs, Merlin lifting his hips to help, and then Arthur wrapped his fingers around Merlin’s shaft again. Arthur fumbled for a good angle, but soon he found a grip that allowed him to keep a steady rhythm and press against the sensitive place just below the head on every upstroke.

Whenever Merlin’s hips and breath matched Arthur’s pace, Arthur would speed up or slow down, and soon Merlin wasn’t capable of kissing anymore – reduced simply to panting and moans. Arthur kept his eyes on Merlin’s face. Merlin had his eyes closed, and he was one of the most beautiful things Arthur had ever seen. Merlin gasped, and writhed under Arthur’s hands, and Arthur felt powerful beyond measure – he had the greatest sorcerer in the entire world, in all of history, reduced to a desperate moaning mess and entirely at his mercy. As Arthur relished this feeling, Merlin opened his eyes and met Arthur’s gaze, and suddenly what Merlin was capable of didn’t matter, because it was Merlin – beautiful, loyal, ridiculous, and brave Merlin, who Arthur loved so fiercely that it scared him – and Arthur knew that Merlin wasn’t at his mercy, they were at each others and always had been.

“Arthur, I’m-“

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Arthur whispered, and then cupped his other hand over the tip of Merlin’s cock, catching Merlin’s release as Merlin came.

He stroked Merlin gently through the aftershocks, then, as Merlin collapsed into a boneless heap, Arthur got to his knees and used his clean hand to remove his own boxer shorts. It was a relief just to be free of the restricting underpants, and Arthur had to take a steadying breath. Merlin rolled onto his back, as he looked to see where Arthur had gone. Merlin’s shirt had rucked up to his chest, exposing the flat plain of his stomach and Arthur used the opportunity to straddle Merlin’s thighs, and take himself in hand – the hand covered in Merlin’s release.

“Arthur,” Merlin said in an awed breath. Arthur was so hard he was aching, and he worked his hand furiously, desperate to come. Which was why, when Merlin reached to help, Arthur caught his hand, because he didn’t need anything other than his own tight grip and Merlin below him.

Arthur placed Merlin’s hand over his own heart instead, and Merlin gave him a soft smile as he moved it across Arthur’s chest, brushing his thumb purposefully over Arthur’s nipple.

“So beautiful, “ Merlin whispered, and then, with a wicked smile, he added, “ _My Lord_ ” and Arthur’s orgasm was so sudden and intense that if not for Merlin’s steadying hands, Arthur surely would have fallen on top of him.

Instead, Arthur lowered himself down gently, kissing Merlin even before he got his breath back. He broke the kiss to nibble along Merlin’s jaw, and kiss his neck.

“I suppose that kink should have been obvious,” Merlin murmured.

“Hmm?” Arthur asked, unsure what a ‘kink’ was.

“Nothing... _Sire,_ ” Merlin replied, and Arthur didn’t have to see the smile to feel it, so he bit Merlin gently on the neck in retaliation.

Merlin drew in a sharp breath.  Arthur kissed the spot. He’d have to remember that.

“What happens now?” Merlin asked. Arthur lifted his head, pulling himself up onto his elbows so that he could see Merlin’s face.

“Will you marry me?”

Merlin’s eyes went wide.

“It’s allowed,” Arthur explained. “I checked.”

Merlin’s smile was wide and beautiful, as was the laugh that accompanied it.

“Yes,” Merlin said. “I’ll marry you.”

Arthur smiled and leaned in for another kiss, pressing himself onto Merlin’s body, sliding through the mess on Merlin’s stomach.

“Oy,” Merlin groaned, breaking the kiss. “Why is it that Gwen got a beautiful proposal with hundreds of candles and instead I just get covered in your cum?”

Arthur huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. “The candles were your idea, you idiot. The second time I proposed to Gwen, I just interrupted her while she was cleaning.”

“You...” Merlin trailed off, shaking his head. “And yet, we did say yes, didn’t we.”

“You did,” Arthur smiled.

*

That night, Arthur dreamt that he and Merlin lay in each other’s arms, on a grassy hill overlooking the lake. Arthur wore the armour of a knight of Camelot, and Merlin was in his simple peasant’s clothes, brown jacket familiar and tattered along the edges after years of use. Besides them, a fire burned lowly.

Between them and the lake stood a dragon – a familiar dragon.

Arthur pulled Merlin towards him out of reflex, while his hand went for his sword – _his_ sword, Excalibur, which rested in its rightful place at his waist.

The dragon smiled and bowed.

“I apologize for the delay, King Arthur, Dragonlord Emrys,” the dragon said. “Everything is now as it should be.”

With that, the dragon uncurled its wings, and lifted itself into the air. Arthur watched it fly away, mighty and majestic, until it disappeared into the horizon, where the rising sun was cresting.

 Arthur closed his eyes as the sunlight reached their grassy hill and turned to capture Merlin’s lips in a quick kiss. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself back in the warmth of their bed, in their little house, with the morning sun streaming in through the window.

“Mmm,” Merlin hummed, chasing the kiss while still in a half sleep.

“Good morning, Consort,” Arthur murmured. Merlin opened his eyes and smiled.

“I’m your Consort now, am I?” Merlin asked, darting in for another kiss.

“Hm, yes,” Arthur replied.

“I had always hoped for Court Sorcerer, but I suppose this’ll do,” Merlin sighed.

“Sorcerer Consort? Consort Sorcerer?” Arthur offered.

Merlin laughed, moving so that he was practically lying on top of Arthur, “Do you know what this means?”

“What does it mean?” Arthur asked, reaching up to run his fingers through Merlin’s ridiculously messy hair.

Merlin leaned down and nibbled at Arthur’s ear, his breath sending pleasant shivers down Arthur’s spine and causing heat to curl in his belly.

“It’s your turn to make breakfast,” Merlin whispered.

“I’ll make _you_ into breakfast!” Arthur growled, and rolled them over in one swift movement. As Merlin’s laughter filled the room, Arthur couldn’t help but agree with the dragon...

...Everything was now as it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, and another one of my cutesy endings.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. :)


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